Gone
by SweetChi
Summary: Years ago, Buffy and Dean met in LA and struck up a friendship - keeping in touch via a series of phone calls since. Until Buffy went missing that is. Now on the road with Sam, Dean searches for both his dad and the blond slayer.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This fic is loosely based on LadyVisionary's one-shot "Phonecalls" and in response to her challenge (details and link in my profile). Dean and Buffy met in L.A. when she ran away after the second season and have remained friends since, talking on the phone randomly over the years. After Buffy defeated The First, she called to let him know. That was over a year ago and he's heard nothing since.

**Timeline:** After S7 of Buffy and during S1 of Supernatural.

**Warnings:** Rated T for Dean's potty mouth. Rating may go up.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Gone**

**Chapter One**

The scenery slid by unnoticed as Dean guided the Impala down a darkening stretch of highway. Flicking the lights on as the sun sank behind the mountains on his left, he drove on with only about a tenth of his mind on the road. There was still no word. From either of them.

His hands tightened on the wheel as he internally grimaced. He should be focused on finding dad, Buffy shouldn't even be on his mind anymore. It had been a year for fucks sake. At first he hadn't thought much of the lack of calls, she'd just kicked some majorly evil ass after all. She'd sounded tired during that last call, maybe even a little tense, but that was to be expected after what she'd just been through. Her plans had involved nothing more than sleeping for a week or two. He suspected she'd call when she decided what was next for her - he'd even entertained ideas of asking her to join him for a hunt or two. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other after all, it would be nice to see her again now that she wasn't playing guard dog to the Hellmouth.

A nice long vacation, probably somewhere warm and sunny - that was the picture he'd had in his mind that first month. And what a nice picture it was, with her honey blond hair and sun kissed skin, Buffy was made for beach fantasies. Even though he hadn't seen her since she was 17, it wasn't difficult for him to imagine the beautiful woman she'd grown into.

But the month had passed and there'd still been no call. That's when he started wondering. And worrying. Maybe something had happened. Or maybe she'd decided that she'd done enough, she was out. Maybe she wanted to live a real life for once and had cut all ties from the supernatural - him included. Neither thought was comforting.

Two months had gone by before he wussed out and made the call. They weren't really the kind of friends that called just to see what was going on. They called when one of them needed the other, when something had happened and they needed an unbiased ear or just to rant to someone that wasn't personally involved. So Dean had made up several very good excuses for this call (and several more for himself when he wondered why he needed to know what she was doing so badly). But all his plotting was for nothing, the only answer to his call was an automated recording telling him that her number had been disconnected. He'd tried it six more times just to be sure.

That was when he and dad started splitting up. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd made it easy for the man to run off and ditch him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd known what his dad was plotting, but he just didn't want to admit it. Worry for Buffy easily overran his concerns about his dads skewed sense of fatherly duty and revenge. Dean himself had been the one to suggest they start taking separate jobs. Now looking back on it, he could see the flash of relief under his fathers faux thoughtful gaze just before he'd agreed.

The jobs had gotten done, he hadn't just been bullshitting so he could run off after Buffy. But he did make sure to end up in certain areas that might be helpful in finding information on the MIA slayer. But after six months of skipping around the country with his vague inquiries, he'd still had nothing. Not a hint of her, any of her friends or even any of the hundreds or thousands or whatever number of slayers they'd mojo'd up. In a last desperate attempt he'd even gone to L.A. - the memory of walking in the Wolfram and Hart building and asking to speak with Angel still made his lip curl with disgust. But he'd bitten the bullet and done it. Not that it had helped, they claimed not to have any "Angel" employed there and never had.

Then dad had disappeared. And Sammy's girl had died in such a horrifyingly familiar way not too much later. Because that's just how life as a Winchester goes. That should be the new Winchester family motto - "Life can never fuck you over hard enough." They shouldn't even bother standing up, they should just keep the assumed bent over position.

So here they were, the two brothers together again. Fighting evil, saving lives and trying to find their father. Well, that was the way it should be, but even now, almost a year after his last conversation with her, his mind was still on finding Buffy. It was completely ridiculous, he knew. His focus should be on his father - he knew he was hunting the yellow eyed demon, and despite what a Class A Badass John Winchester might be, he'd still need their help. Not to mention Sammy - he needed dad now more than ever. Dad could understand his loss, his need for revenge, better than anyone. Even though Dean had loved his mother and wanted to see that sonofabitch that had killed her and blown apart their lives pay dearly, Sammy had been right in his furious accusation on the bridge. He didn't really know what it was like for dad or Sam.

But Sammy and dad needed him, maybe now more than ever. Buffy on the other hand might not even be alive any more, and if she was, she obviously didn't want to be found. Not to mention she was more than capable of taking care of herself. So why was he wasting the time and energy?

"What are you thinking about?"

The sudden question from Sam made him jump, the car slid off the side of the highway and sent up a spray of gravel before Dean righted it.

"What the hell, Sam!" Dean yelled, shooting an aggravated look over at his brother. Sam himself was wide eyed and gripping the door handle for dear life, but at Dean's exclamation, his shocked "I'm gonna die" look melted into the patented Sammy Bitchface.

"That's my line, jerk! All I did was ask a question! I've been sitting here for the past six hours, it's not like I just popped out of nowhere."

Dean for his part knew that there was no reason to be mad at Sam, and he wasn't - he was furious at _himself_. Both for the path his thoughts had taken and that Sam had apparently been watching him while he was mentally wandering in la-la-land. But he had no intention of answering that question and pissing Sam off was a surefire way to distract him.

"Well, next time use your indoor voice. Freakishly loud to go with freakishly tall, I guess," he muttered, making sure Sam heard as he focused his attention back on the road.

"Whatever, Dean," Sam answered, shaking his head. Dean had to fight a smirk at quieter tone he used though.

"How much further?"

"What are you, eight?" Dean asked, shooting his brother a disbelieving glance.

Sam flushed a little, but met Dean's eyes, "No, I'm hungry."

"Well, we're almost there little man. And if you're good and quiet for the rest of the ride, I'll even buy you an ice-cream!"

Dean gave his brother a condescending smile and internally sighed with relief when Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, concentrating on stretching out his long limbs as much as he could in the cramped quarters instead of following up on his questioning.

Why couldn't he tell Sam about Buffy? Sam was… Sam. There'd be some teasing (okay, a lot of teasing) and some grinning about Dean having a _friend_ that was a _girl_, but he'd help. And no one did research like Sammy. But…

She was his.

There were very few things in his life that Dean could truly call his. The music he listened to, the coat he wore, the car he drove, even the job he did were all his dads. His childhood was nonexistent, it belonged to Sammy - not that he was complaining, that was just the way it was. But Buffy, she was his. At first he didn't understand why he'd leave and lie about where he'd been and what he'd been doing when he'd only been talking to her. It was a stupid thing to lie about after all, talking on the phone with a girl. But he kept doing it, making excuses to leave so he could call. He found that it was almost like a release. Staying strong, keeping his unaffected devil-may-care attitude up for everyone was so much easier after talking to her. He was still the cocky, brash, joking, "nothing can hurt me" Dean Winchester he'd always been when on the phone with her, but somehow it was different. She could read between the lines and make him feel better without ever coming out and directly bringing up the issue at hand. Although he'd never said it out loud, he'd felt that her job as a school councilor was fitting even if she joked about how out of her depth she was.

They were a lot alike. They'd known that the first time they met in that graveyard in L.A. Actually, that was the second time they'd met. The first being in a small crappy café where Dean was the flirtatious pie eating customer and Buffy was "Anne", the sad eyed, tired looking girl that was immune to his attention. But the first time they'd _really_ met was in that graveyard - as Dean Winchester, the hunter, and Buffy Summers, the slayer. Their situations may have been different, but the burden of taking care of others, keeping up a strong face despite all they'd lost was still there, a common denominator that broke down any walls between them. Dean had never opened up to anyone like he had that night. NEVER. It still embarrassed him to think about. But her openness and her tears had moved him. She'd shared her darkest parts with him, sobbing and broken, he couldn't help but do the same.

"Dean… _What _are you thinking about?"

Sam's voice was soft and thick with curiosity, but when Dean ticked his eyes over toward his brother, he only saw concern etched on his face. Dammit, he needed to pay more attention when he was around Sam, lock things down a little tighter. Sammy always had been able to pick up on the smallest hint that something was wrong with his big brother - it was how Dean became so good at covering things up, pushing them down and generally ignoring them. It was also how he became a pro at deflecting and distracting. Unfortunately it seemed as if he was out of practice.

So, when backed into a "lets talk about our feelings" corner by Sam the Emo Patrol, the best way to escape was to throw him a bone. Give him a scrap of angst to chew on for a while and it would keep him from digging deeper.

Sighing deeply, Dean ran a hand over his face, his stubble catching on calluses and making a rasping noise that could be heard over the music that he'd turned down when Sam had fallen asleep about two hundred miles back.

"Just dad, man. Wondering where he is… if he's alright."

He said the last part quietly, knowing touchy-feely Sam would eat it up.

"That's not your 'I'm thinking about dad' face."

Dean did a double take at the unexpected answer. Sam's response was immediate and his voice wasn't thick with skepticism, it was flat and loaded with disapproval and disbelief. The tone that said there was no argument here, it was simply a fact. Dean blinked at him while digesting what he'd just said.

"Not my- Dude, you seriously need a hobby."

While part of him was dead serious and creeped out that apparently his brother had a mental catalog of what faces went with what thoughts, he was also panicking internally. The Angst Puppy had spit the table scrap right back at him and was going for the whole steak.

"Dean, what's going on with you. You've been acting weird - sneaking off to make calls, looking distracted and worried. There's something going on here that you're not telling me and I don't think it has anything to do with dad," Sam said, his eyes boring into the side of Dean's head as he purposely kept his gaze on the road an away from his brothers probing look.

"How'd you sleep, Sammy?"

It was a low blow and Dean knew it. Sam's breath stuttered, before being released in a long sigh.

"Fine," he answered after a moment of silence, turning towards the passenger window as the conversation was dropped.

Dean was a little angry and disappointed at Sam's refusal to confide in him but was also glad that the inquisition had stopped. How could Sam expect him to share everything with him when he couldn't do the same. By smacking his little brother in the face with the hypocrisy of the situation, he'd effectively made his point - even if it gnawed at his conscience to use Sammy's pain against him like that. Dean knew his brother wasn't sleeping well (sometimes not at all) and he suspected there was something deeper going on with him than just nightmares, but Sam had made it perfectly clear that the subject was off limits. If Dean could respect that, then Sam could do the same for him.

He had a feeling that neither of their secrets would last much longer, but he wasn't quite ready to share yet and, for now, the missing slayer remained his.


	2. Phone Call Interlude One

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude One**

_The phone in his pocket vibrated just as Dean was reaching for the motel door. He rolled his eyes, thinking it was Sammy being his typical annoying self and wanting to know where his Pepsi was. He was about to yell through the door at his bratty little brother when he remembered someone else that might be calling. A certain blond slayer he'd given his number to just a few weeks ago. Quickly juggling the two cans of soda into one hand, he grabbed for the phone as it hit the fourth ring. _

_The number across the display was "unknown" and he snapped it open as he strode back down the hall away from their room. _

"_Yeah," he answered, his Winchester upbringing not allowing him to answer with his name._

"…_umm… Dean?"_

_A smile broke out over his face at the unsure voice on the other end._

"_Buffy," he tried to sound cool, but was almost certain she could hear his silly grin over the line._

"_I wasn't sure... I mean - is this okay? You're not busy are you? Killing something or exercising something or some other hunterly thing?"_

"_No, no it's fine," he assured her, still grinning. "No 'hunterly things' for me tonight, I'm on Sammy duty."_

"_Sammy duty?" _

"_Yeah, Dad's off meeting with someone, so I have to make sure Sammy doesn't wander off or swallow his crayons."_

"…_isn't your brother in high school?"_

"_Yeah," he laughed before rolling his eyes. "But dad seems to think I'm better off here with him than helping with the hunt."_

_He was slightly bitter about being left behind, he knew his dad didn't necessarily need him for interviews, but he hated being stuck here in the hotel. It wasn't really Sam's fault, but he needed someone to take out his frustrations on and teasing his younger brother was the best outlet short of bloodshed - even if he wasn't around to get pissy about being compared to a toddler._

_He heard her snort slightly on the other end, "I'll trade you. You can come hunt all the nasty things you want here at the Hellmouth and I'll take over Sammy duty."_

_The grin that had been on his face earlier slipped as he heard the underlying weariness in the statement he was sure she meant to be lighter than it was. _

"_So you're back home then?" _

"_Yep, for a couple weeks now."_

"_And how's that going?"_

"…_it's going."_

_Crossing the parking lot, he took a seat on the low brick wall that surrounded the Hillside Motel sign, making sure their room was in view, and sat Sam's Pepsi down beside him while he popped the top of his own Mt Dew. _

"_So, how was the reunion? More 'yay, you're back to kill evil" or 'where were you when there was so much evil to be killed'?"_

_A laugh escaped her before she answered, "A little of both I think. It was awkward and then some. But the zombies helped smooth things over."_

_Raising an eyebrow, Dean just said, "Yeah, zombies tend to do that."_

"_Angel's back."_

_The words came fast, blurted out in a moment of courage. His eyes widened as he struggled to come up with something witty, but all that kept running though his mind was the stories she'd told him about the people he'd killed, the horrible things he'd done. How he'd almost broken her._

"_He's back... From Hell?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Damn, first zombies and then your murderous undead ex. Quite a welcome home."_

"_He's Angel, not Angelus. He has his soul."_

"_Buffy, things just don't come back from Hell. At least nothing good. It's not like it's a day spa," Dean said, resting the can on his knee as he rubbed a hand through his hair._

"_I know that, Dean," her tone wasn't aggravated, it was just tired. "But he's still here. I don't know why or how, but he's not evil."_

"_What's your Watcher think about this? Any secret Council writings on comings and goings to Hell?"_

"_I haven't told anyone. Well, you. You know now."_

"_You can't just keep him hidden away forever."_

"_You know what they'd want me to do."_

_He did, and he agreed with them. The hunter in him rallied that Angel was to dangerous to live, soul or no soul. It was too risky that he'd slip back into being a homicidal maniac. But he also knew what that would do to her. He'd seen what killing him once had done to her, asking her to do it again would be beyond cruel. He wondered what it would be like - to love someone that turned evil and then be expected to kill them. What if it were dad? Or Sam? Dean liked to think that he would be strong enough to do what needed to be done, what he was trained to do, but deep inside he knew he'd rather die than kill either of them. No matter what they became. This wasn't about whether Angel deserved to live or die, it was about whether Buffy should be forced to kill him. And he didn't agree with that. _

"_You do what you have to do, Buffy. What you can live with. No one can decide that for you," he said at last. Knowing she would understand what he meant._

_There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line, before she said softly, "Thanks, Dean."_

"_Not a problem. People come from far and wide to seek my wisdom, you know."_

"_Of course," she laughed, relieving the tension in his chest that had gathered from hearing her sound so worn down. "Dean Winchester - hunter by night, therapist by… night."_

"_You laugh, but many beautiful women have asked me to help them forget all their worries." _

"_And you're just doing your part to help, right? _

"_Absolutely! Anything for a woman in need," he shot back, smirking cockily. There was a sudden beep in his ear signaling another call. "Hang on a second." Hearing her "kay" of agreement, he pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. "Incoming Sammy" flashed across it. Rolling his eyes, he hit the answer button._

"_What?"_

"_Where ARE you?"_

"_A hot chick needed me, Sammy. Duty calls."_

"_What!" His brother squawked in his ear. "Dean you can't just run off-"_

"_I didn't 'run off', I'm still here at the hotel," he interrupted, making sure to make the statement sound as lewd as possible. _

"_Dean-"_

"_Gotta go, Sammy. Never leave a lady waiting," he grinned and hung up on him just as the first incoherent sounds of rage were forming. _

"_Sorry about that," he said after he switched back to Buffy. _

"_No big. One of your new 'therapy clients'?"_

"_No, just Sammy," he replied with a grin and drinking the last of his Mt Dew. "Wanting to know where I got off to. So, the Hellmouth spitting out anything interesting these days? Besides zombies and undead ex's?_

"_Oh, hey, there's another Slayer in town, too."_

"_Another one?" He asked in confusion as he opened Sammy's Pepsi. "I thought the universe only popped out one of you chicks at a time?"_

"_They do, the order got all screwy when I died."_

_The drink he'd just taken ended up going down the wrong pipe and the only response he could make to this statement was a series of hacking coughs and a choked out "Died?"_

"_Mmmhmm, some really old ugly vamp drowned me. I wasn't dead for long though. But even a little dead is enough for the next Slayer to be called, I guess."_

"_Right," Dean said slowly, finally having gotten his breath back. "So, uh, what's the new chick like?"_

"_I don't know… she's got all these stories about wrestling alligators… or priests. While naked."_

"_That sounds… hot."_

"_How did I know you were going to say that?"_

"_What about you?" He asked with a sly grin. "Any naked wrestling stories?_

"_Nah, I slay with clothes."_

"_Shame."_

"_Oh! I did kill something like the monster on Alien once though!"_

"_No shit? The big black slimy thing with the acid spit?" He asked sitting up a little straighter, he was both awed and horrified that something like that actually existed. _

"_No, not that one. The little creepy thing that scurried all over the floor and then jumped on that guys face."_

"_The face raping thing?" Dean asked, even more horrified than he was before._

"_Is _that_ what it was doing? Bleh, you could have left me in the dark on that one."_

"_You realize that's _nothing_ like naked wrestling. I can't think of anything more unsexy than a face raping monster. You couldn't have picked a worse example."_

"_Well… once I fought a ventriloquist dummy with the soul of a hunter trapped in it!"_

"_Seriously? That would suck… Still not equaling naked wrestling though, Buf."_

"_How about cheerleaders? I went out for the squad when a witch was targeting them."_

"_Hmmm, girls in skimpy outfits jumping around… Nice try, but still no cigar. You'll just need to vary your routine a little. Slut-up your slaying and you'll be a contender for sure."_

"_Slut-up the slaying, huh?" She laughed. "I'll see what I can do. So what's the what with you? What's currently on the Hunter Menu?"_

_Dean leaned back on one arm as he launched into the details of their current hunt, having to stop to laugh a few minutes in when he spotted Sammy creeping out of the room and around the motel with a pissy look on his face. _

_He knew their talk probably didn't help her much with the decision she was facing. Hard times were ahead for her, no doubt. But her laughs had sounded genuine and he hoped that he'd at least taken her mind off her troubles for a while. And he felt better, too. He hadn't even realized how tense he'd been, how much it bothered him that he'd been left behind - to not be needed. But that bitter, uneasy knot that had slowly been forming had loosened. _

_This could be good, he thought. Having someone who knows what's out there, who knows what it's like being one of the few out there fighting it day after day - the high of victory and the pain of loss. Someone to talk to where the pretense of Slayer, Hunter, Daughter, Son, Protector, Soldier was moot. They were simply Dean and Buffy. Equals._

_Maybe it was something they both needed. _


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Timeline**: After Bloody Mary.

**Chapter Two**

"_The number you are trying to reach has been dis-_

Dean snapped the phone shut with an angry scowl and slouched further down in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. The foul look on his face probably would've scared any small children and old ladies had there been any around, but luckily the small town eye clinic was empty.

After the incident in the mirror shop, Dean had insisted Sam get checked out and Sam, in a Dean like display of bullheadedness, had insisted he was fine. When it became obvious that Dean would knock him out and drag him in if he had to, Sam had switched tactics.

"_Fine. But I'm not the only one who's eyes were bleeding. They're looking at you, too."_

Dean's argument that he was the older brother and therefore entitled to refuse any medical attention - a benefit that younger brothers didn't get ("It's in the rule book of big brothers, dude.") didn't hold up to Sammy's stubbornness. In the end they'd agreed on an optometrist over the emergency room, with Sam making the concession that if the doctor found _anything_ out of the ordinary, they were going to the hospital.

So after getting cleaned up, they'd headed out of town (Dean had knocked out two cops only hours before after all, how lame would it be to get arrested in the middle of an eye exam?). The trip had been tense and Dean had finally broken the silence with the issue both of them knew couldn't be ignored any longer.

"_Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret was."_

_Sam had been quiet for a moment before turning his eyes on Dean. _

"_Why were _your _eyes bleeding?"_

_Dean's chest had tightened in panic as the question he'd been afraid to ask himself was suddenly out in the open. Was it because every life he failed to save felt like he'd killed them himself? Or was it about Buffy? Was it because Dean wasn't there when she needed him? Was she actually dead or did Mary just see that she _could _be dead in Dean's subconscious? Or maybe she was seeing his guilt over the last time Buffy died… Oh god, he couldn't think about that right now. One thing he knew for sure - he wasn't giving Sam _any_ of those answers. _

"_She was just all suped-up from freeing herself from the mirror," he said, hoping his voice sounded more sure to Sammy than it did to himself. "She could probably melt all the eyeballs she wanted by then."_

_When Sam didn't answer, he looked over to see his brother staring at him - his face a mix of sadness, frustration and concern. Finally he sighed and turned to look back out the window._

"_Look, we're brothers… and we'd die for each other. But maybe there's some things we need to keep to ourselves."_

And that had been that. Conversation over. Now, about an hour later, Dean had been given the all clear and was waiting for Sam to finish. Trying Buffy's number again had become like second nature whenever he was alone. A habit that he couldn't seem to stop even though he always felt worse afterward.

All in all, things had been pretty craptastic lately. No leads on dad, no leads on Buffy and Bloody Mary's attack on Sam was proof positive that he was hiding something big - something he was still refusing to tell Dean about. But it's not like he could really judge, not with the way he was sneaking around looking for clues on Buffy's whereabouts. It was getting harder to hide his search for her from Sam.

In Colorado he'd checked in on the supposed residence of a former Watcher while they were working the Wendigo case - the man was missing and had been for about six months. He'd sought out a "renowned psychic" in Wisconsin after the water spirit - she'd "seen" nothing. Found a former Sunnydale resident living in Pennsylvania when they were there for the plane crashing demon - delusional on a whole new level, "Sunnydale was such a wonderful little town. I'll really miss it, you know. So quiet and peaceful. A real shame about that sinkhole…"

Sliding down even lower in his chair, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. The soft muzak playing overhead was torture - the first thing he was doing when they got back to the Impala was cranking some Sabbath. Let Ozzy's dulcet tones chase the sound of a clarinet playing "I Believe I Can Fly."

"Hey, you alright?"

Sam's concerned voice came from almost right in front of him, making him wonder how A) someone so ginormous could move so quietly and B) how pathetically out of it he must be to not have noticed. Buffy was a dangerous distraction, he was lucky he hadn't gotten them killed yet with his inattention.

He must have taken too long to answer because Sam's brow furrowed together even further and he folded himself quickly into the seat next to him, taking Dean's chin in his mammoth paw of a hand before he could protest and tilting his head left and right looking at his eyes.

"What did the doctor say? Is something wrong? Do your eyes hurt?"

Dean swatted him away and sat up straight, "Lay off the touchy feely crap. I'm fine, Sam. Doc say's I've got great peepers. Just tired." He focused his attention back on Sam, studying him with the same intensity his brother had given him just moments before. "What about you? All good?"

Sam nodded and stood, still watching him closely. "All good."

"That's a relief. Can't do research if you're blind," Dean said, moving toward the front desk to pay.

"Hmm, yeah, it'd also be hard to save your ass if I couldn't see you," Sam replied mildly.

Dean was stopped from telling Sam what he could do with his ass by the arrival of one of the two elderly doctors that owned the place - Dr. Leonard, the one that had done Dean's exam. The place was so small they didn't even have a receptionist to take payments.

"Good to see two young men so concerned with eye health," he said with and eye crinkling smile as he pushed the bill across to them.

Dean nodded and reached in his pocket as he glanced at the paper, "An underappreciated branch of the medical field."

Sam snatched the fraudulent card away from Dean as he started to hand it to the man and pulled out his wallet, laying down a wad of cash.

"That card's close to the max," he said, giving his brother a flat stare.

Dean shot him a "what the hell?" look as the doctor gathered Sam's change, to which Sam just narrowed his eyes at and shook his head slightly.

Out in the parking lot, Sam answered before Dean could even get the question out, "We're not ripping off two nice elderly eye doctors, Dean."

"Fine, fine," Dean said, waving his hand at his brother in dismissal. Truth be told, had his mind not been so preoccupied, he probably would have paid in cash anyway. Not that he'd tell Sam that.

"So, where to next? Anything going on in Ohio?" Dean asked as he settled into the driver's seat, reveling in the warm leather and the familiar smell.

"Nope and no coordinates from dad either. I'll break out the laptop next place we hit that has wi-fi and see what I can find nearby."

A sudden inspiration hit Dean and his hands tightened on the wheel as he struggled to keep his face and voice nonchalant.

"…how far is Cleveland?"

"Cleveland? Cleveland's like a supernatural dead zone, why would you want to go there?"

Dean smiled humorlessly at the lie their father had told them. He wondered if John had actually known what was there and refused to let his family near it or if he'd been fooled by the pretense of normality in the area just like everyone else. It was possible he just didn't know, the Cleveland Hellmouth didn't spew a constant fountain of mystical energy like the one in Sunnydale had, it was basically just a trickle except a few times a year - solstices, certain phases of the moon, etc. It was also possible that he knew exactly what it was and just wanted Dean and Sam far from it.

"Something I need to check on," Dean answered, popping Black Sabbath into the cassette player. "So, how far are we?"

Sam pulled out the map, muttering about "booty calls" under his breath.

"About two hours," he answered, pulling his phone out of his pocket as it started to play some lame emo ballad. "Just keep following this until 90 branches off," he said, distractedly waving at the freeway Dean was getting on.

Dean rolled his eyes and cranked up the music as his brother started tapping away at the screen. Excitement and hope he couldn't quite seem to beat down gathered in his chest. Of course he'd checked out the Hellmouth in Cleveland early on when Buffy went missing, but there had been nothing there. Oddly enough, there not only had been no Slayers, there also hadn't been anything supernatural at all going on. Figuring all the nasties were laying low after the Sunnydale Smackdown, he'd left with plans to check it out again later. There should be a Slayer watching over it by now, maybe he'd finally get a lead on her.

"God…"

Sam's distraught voice somehow carried over the sound of Ozzy wailing about Heaven and Hell - big brother's selective hearing at work.

"What?" Dean asked, turning the music back down and looking over at Sam who was staring at his phone with disbelief.

"This e-mail, from this girl, Rebecca Warren… a friend of mine. I went to school with her and her brother, Zach," he said distractedly, scrolling down the screen of his phone. "She says Zach's been charged with murder - he's been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn't do it but… sounds like the cops have a pretty good case."

"Dude, what kinda people are you hanging out with?"

"No, man. I know Zach. He's no killer."

"Yeah, well maybe you just didn't know your friend as well as you thought you did."

"He wouldn't do this, Dean. I know it," Sam said, turning his super amped up earnestness on his brother. "He's in St. Louis, we should go."

"Look, I'm sorry about your buddy, okay. But this doesn't sound like our kinda problem."

"They're my friends, Dean."

Dean tried not to let the battle in his head show on his face. They were so close to Cleveland, and possibly some answers. But how could he refuse Sam a chance to check in on his friends, when he's been spending so much time on the sly looking for Buffy. And who knew, maybe this was their kinda job. It was better to go and make sure than stay here chasing ghosts.

"Yeah, okay, Sammy. St. Louis here we come," Dean said shooting his brother a big (fake) grin.

Sam wasn't buying it though, he was watching Dean with that intense look again, like he was studying a particularly difficult demonology text.

"Hey, why don't we go to Cleveland.," Sam suggested suddenly. "You can do what you need to do and I'll hop a flight to St. Louis. Be back in a few days."

The offer was genuine, no sign of exasperation or annoyance in Sam's tone at all. And it actually appealed to Dean more than he'd like to admit. But leaving Sam alone…

"No way, Sammy. What if this turns out to be our kinda gig?" He asked, then shot his brother an innocently worried look. "You're still too small to play in the sandbox all on your own, Sammykins."

"I'll just check it out, see what's going on. Just because I know Zach couldn't do this doesn't mean anything supernatural is going on. Could be a mistake, or someone pissed at him trying to make him look guilty. If I need backup, I'll call." Sam sighed as his brother shook his head stubbornly. "Look, Dean. I don't know what's going on with you and if you don't wanna tell me, that's fine. But I'm not blind or stupid. Something's got you worried and it's not dad. It's eating you up. If whatever this is you have to do in Cleveland will help, then do it."

Sam's words hung heavily in the air of the Impala as Ozzy sang on in the background. Dean couldn't speak. There just weren't any words. Or maybe there were too many. The sudden overflow of gratefulness was overwhelming and choking, but at the same time urging him to just tell his brother what was going on. In the end, he just fell back on habit - keeping things quietly to himself.

"Fine. But you're not flying."

"Dean, nothing going to happen to the plane," Sam sighed in exasperation. "I know you don't li-"

"That's not it, brain trust. You can't take weapons on a plane. And I'll be damned if you're not taking two of everything. You'll be like the Noah's ark of weaponry."

Sam snorted and shot his brother a smile.

"You have to promise me you won't do anything stupid, Sammy. First sign of trouble, FIRST SIGN, you call me, got it?"

"I'm not a kid, Dean. I don't need a babysitter."

"Promise me, Sam."

"Fine, I promise," he answered, and when Dean looked over at him he saw that even though his little brother's voice was indulgent, his eyes and slight smile showed affection.

Dean looked away and cranked the music up, fighting a smile.

Twenty minutes later found them in a small town called Fremont where Sam had found a rental car agency using his phone. After Dean got finished laughing at the silver Ford Focus Sam would be driving, he followed him out into the country where they stopped to sift through the weapons in the Impala's trunk next to a corn field.

After badgering Sam about fifteen more times about being careful and calling and Sam reassuring him just as many times that he would, Dean finally watched his brother drive away with a knot in his stomach, hoping desperately that he wasn't making a huge mistake.

Deciding not to dwell on it, he hopped back in his car and took off for Cleveland - the faster he got this done with, the faster he could make sure Sam wasn't getting in over his head. Hopefully he'd just find out his friend was a wackjob, which sounded callous, but given the myriad of other options, Dean would take it.

The sun beat down out of the cloudless sky, warming the interior as the wind rushed in from the open windows and Ozzy was switched out for Metallica. It should have been perfect. But Dean had gotten used to having his brother back, and now that he was gone again the loss was more acute than it had been in a while. The whole time Sam had been gone, he'd missed him - there was no denying that. But even though he'd thought about him daily and wondered how he was and what he was doing, the ache of missing him had grown familiar - never going away, but becoming bearable.

Buffy's absence wasn't quite the same, she hadn't been a physical presence. Missing her wasn't as… sharp, as it had been with Sam. But it wasn't a pain he was growing used to like he had with his brother. Instead it seemed to get more insistent as the days went by. Maybe it was because there was no closure, he didn't know where she was, what had happened to her, if she was alive or dead. When she had died before, there hadn't been this obsession. There had been rage and grief and numbness and guilt, but there had been no hope then either. She'd been dead. There was nothing else to say on the matter. He'd only just started pulling himself back together when she'd come back. Would he go through that all over again? Would all this lead to finding out she was gone, this time for good? If that was the case, why was he searching at all? Wasn't it better to think she was out there somewhere than to know she wasn't?

His thoughts rolled around in dark circles as he made his way into Cleveland, the setting sun coloring the skyline a bright orange that reflected off the water. His first stop, Calvary Cemetery, the largest graveyard in the city. With effort, he pulled himself out of his spiraling thoughts, knowing that being distracted while roaming a Hellmouth could be deadly. Parking down a suburban side road, he climbed out into the cooling night air and grabbed a few stakes and a flask of holy water out of the trunk before venturing into the cemetery.

The graveyard was still and quiet, smelling slightly of freshly mown grass. Huge trees, headstones and mausoleums dotted the landscape, the rising moon causing muted shadows to fall over the lawn. Dean strode boldly through the park like setting, making no effort to conceal himself, one hand wrapped around the stake in the pocket of his leather jacket. It only took about a half an hour for him to feel something watching him. Stalking him. Pretending not to notice, he carried on until he reached a particularly beat down looking gravestone.

"Oh, Uncle Johnny, I hardly knew ye," he said, squatting down in front of the marker and waiting.

The thing was on him almost immediately, all yellow eyes, sharp teeth and distorted forehead. Had it not been for his father's intense training, he most likely would have gotten his face ripped off. Instead, he dodged low, hitting the lunging vampire with his shoulder and flipping it back behind him. It twisted and landed on its feet like a cat and came at him again, barely giving him time to whip the stake out and thrust it up into its chest as its teeth snapped mere inches from his neck. Its eyes, far too close to Dean's own for comfort, blinked at him comically before it burst into dust.

Slowly straightening back out, he brushed the flecks off his coat and jeans as he willed his heart to quit pounding. Demons that used your body to work their evil unnerved him in some primal way. The wolf in sheep's skin. A violation on the deepest level - he couldn't think of anything worse. Whether it be the kind that smoked in and used you up while you were still alive and trapped or the kind that booted you out of your own skin and made it into a monster, demonic possession was the nastiest thing they dealt with in his opinion.

"Nice moves," a deep sultry voice called out behind him.

His body tensed and he cursed himself for not paying more attention. Tucking the stake back in his pocket, he turned slowly to see a dark haired beauty watching him from next to a large mausoleum. Black leather pants and a tank with the words "Bite Me" splashed across the front along with the sexy smirk revealing dimples made Dean's pulse pick up.

"That? Nothing. I'm sure I could show you some much more interesting moves…"

"I wonder…" she said, pushing away from the stone wall and moving closer, her strides smooth and sure, hips swaying. "Don't get too cocky, though. That vamp was a whole six minutes old. It's like killing a kitten."

"A kitten? Ouch, you just slayed my sense of manly pride."

She froze, her head tilting slightly to the side.

"Interesting choice of words…"

"You are a Slayer aren't you? She who hangs out a lot in cemeteries?" He asked, pointedly looking at the stake that jammed in the front pocket of her skin tight pants.

The amusement in her dark eyes faded into something more intense.

"That's B's line."

The nickname struck a memory in him.

"Leather pants, plenty of attitude and smoking hot. You must be Faith."

"And who the hell are you?"

"Friend of Buffy's."

They both stared each other down. The rustling of the leaves overhead from the light breeze and the distant chirp of crickets the only sound.

"Where is she?"

Dean's heart fell as he realized he wasn't the only one that had voiced the question, Faith's words had overlapped his own perfectly.


	4. Phone Call Interlude Two

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Two**

_The room was dark, dingy smoke smelling curtains pulled tightly across the one grimy window. Whispering of boots treading back and forth on the worn out dark green carpet was the only sound and the stagnant air was only shifted by the pacer relentlessly following his back and forth path. _

_One… two… three… four… turn… one… two… three… four… turn_

_Dean ran a hand roughly through his hair, wondering what he should do next. Or rather, if he should do anything at all. The opening of the motel door jerked him from his planning and he spun around. Bright afternoon light came spilling in, making his dark adjusted eyes squint in displeasure. At first the tall figure in the doorway made his breath whoosh out in relief, until he realized that, while close, it wasn't quite tall enough, and that skinny sixteen year old frame had a lot of broadening to do before it measured up to his dad's bulk. His posture slumped and the relief was whisked away, once again being replaced by the slowly constricting band around his chest._

_Sam walked in, his lanky physique giving his gate a slightly awkward lurch, his shoulders rounded in a typical "woe is me being a teenager is so tough" way and his shaggy hair falling over his eyes. Carelessly shoving the door closed behind him, he pulled his book bag from the one shoulder where it had been dangling and tossed it on the bed closest to the door._

"_Dad's still not back, man," Dean said._

"_So?" Sam asked, not looking up as he unzipped the bag and started yanking out books and papers._

"_It's been over a week, Sam. And he's not answering his phone."_

"_I repeat 'So'? This is dad, dude, he always disappears and he never answers his phone."_

"_He was supposed to be back days ago. It was only supposed to be recon, no hunting."_

_Finally glancing up at his brother, Sam gave him a look like Dean was a slow child._

"_And if he found anything do you seriously think dad would call and tell us, or come back and then leave again?"_

_Dean opened his mouth to retort, but there was really nothing to say to that. Dad had never been one for coddling, and if he'd caught a whiff of something, he'd be going after it and leave the boys to fend for themselves until he could make it back. John Winchester didn't leave jobs half done. _

_Not that there was anything wrong with that…_

_With the contents of his book bag now scattered across the ugly teal and tan floral printed bedspread, Sam turned from the mess and strode to the mini fridge, grabbing a can of Coke before kicking off his shoes and flopping down on the bed with all his crap._

"_I still think something's wrong, man," Dean said, resuming his pacing. "He's never been gone this long with out letting us know first or at least calling."_

"_Let it go, Dean. Dad's fine, he just doesn't give a crap about us."_

"_Sam…" His voice was low and barely restrained, he _hated_ it when Sam started in on their father. Digging deep and finding a shred of patience, he gritted out, "He does the best he can for us. AND he saves a ton of people while doing it. Lay off him, Sammy."_

"_Whatever…" Sammy quickly lost what little interest he had in the conversation and flipped open one of his text books. _

_So… no help there then. Dean resumed his pacing, clenching his phone in his hand and resisting the urge to try his dad's number again. The thought of calling Uncle Bobby flitted through his mind and was just as quickly squished. What if nothing was wrong? What if dad really was just caught up in the hunt? Uncle Bobby would be pissed at dad for leaving them alone for this long without a word and dad would be pissed at Dean for bringing Bobby into it. _

"_Will you cut it out already, Dean!" Sammy yelled, slamming his pencil down on the notebook in front of him. "Do you know how far behind I am? This school is way ahead of the one in Georgia and I'll never get caught up if I have to sit here listening to you pace like a caged animal. Go somewhere, dude."_

_Dean rolled his eyes, having heard Sam whining about Clifton High since they arrived, he wanted to hear more of it about as much as Sammy apparently wanted to listen to him pace. Heading toward the door, he made sure to brush against the pile of books Sam had precariously balanced on the edge of the bed, sending them tumbling off in an avalanche of bending pages and creaking spines._

"_DEAN!"_

_He grinned to himself as he slammed the door on Sam's bellow, feeling better for the moment._

_It was bright and noisy outside of the motel room. The late afternoon air was thick with the stench of exhaust from the rush hour traffic and the sounds of cars horns and sirens wailing in the distance. It was rare they were in such a populated area and Dean was missing the open spaces of middle America where they spent most of their time hunting the supernatural. He wasn't the only one either, it seemed like Sam never stopped complaining about the overcrowded local high school. _

_The amount of cars clogging the road ruined the idea of taking a drive to clear his head, so he just started walking. He ended up about three blocks over at a tiny little Italian restaurant that was currently empty. The prices were cheap and the food was so great he almost ate himself into a food coma. The dinner crowd had filled in around him by the time he was finished, he ordered a meal to go for Sammy and headed back to the room. _

_When he got back, Sam had had one of his girly mood swings and was feeling bad about kicking Dean out of the room, the guilt practically oozing out of his puppy eyes when he saw the food Dean had gotten for him. Dean assured his little brother that he couldn't "kick" him anywhere if he tried and tossed him his dinner before taking off his coat and flopping down on the other bed as he flicked on the TV._

_Unease and worry were still coiling in him like a greasy restless snake, making it impossible to concentrate on the sitcom. Maybe he'd go out and play some pool, try and unwind. Part of him even considered driving the short ten miles into NYC and seeing what was kicking in The Big Apple's supernatural underbelly. Buffy said she'd heard they had a pretty decent vampire population._

_Buffy…_

_His hand automatically drifted to the phone the pocket of his jeans as he thought of her._

_Maybe he could catch her before she went patrolling…_

"_I'm going to get a drink," he said, suddenly wanting to talk to her right away._

"_We have drinks in the fridge."_

"_Not the kind of drink I want."_

_Instead of getting bitchy, Sam put down his fork and cast his brother a worried look. "Dude, I don't think-"_

"_I won't be gone long, Sammy. Less than an hour."_

_Stepping out into the cooling night air, he whipped his phone out and dialed the now familiar number as he strode across the parking lot._

"_Hello?" A perky voice answered after three rings._

"_Hey Buffy," he greeted, sitting down on a shadowed bus stop bench across the street from the motel, making sure he could still see their room from his spot._

"_Dean! Hi! It's so good to hear from you, things have been kinda tense around here lately. There was this whole thing where people who weren't supposed to be kissing were kissing and it made me think about you. I mean - not think about YOU, because that would be weird. No, not weird! I'm sure kissing you isn't weird. For other people. Not me people. Not that any girl wouldn't be lucky. But I just mean how nice and uncomplicated it is between us and -wow. Awkward. Shutting up now."_

_Dean felt a grin trying to break free at Buffy's unrestrained babbling. He loved how her mouth just ran away from her sometimes. Not _love_ love, just - ah hell, now he was doing it. Shaking his head, he decided to skip the uncomfortable platitudes and just get to why he called. _

"_My dad's missing."_

"_What happened? When was the last time you talked to him?"_

_Gratefulness welled up in his chest hearing her sweet girly voice slip immediately into no-nonsense professional mode. That someone besides him would worry about this, take it seriously, even if it turned out to be nothing, was such a relief - a weight off his shoulders._

"_About ten days ago. We're in Clifton, New Jersey. Bunch of bodies were turning up on the shore of the Passaic River, all within miles of the Devil's Gate here. Bodies were mutilated with weird symbols so dad was supposed to just go out, see what he could find, keep an eye on the entrance to the Gate and see if anyone or thing was coming or going."_

"_Have you gone looking for him?"_

"_No, I just can't leave Sammy, and I'm sure as hell not taking him with me."_

"_If push comes to shove, you might not have a choice. He could back you up."_

"_No way, Buffy. He's just a kid."_

"_We were both younger than he is when we started kicking evil ass. Plus, it's not like he's new to it."_

"_I just… I don't want to take him into something like that without both me and dad to watch out for him, you know."_

"_You'd never let anything happen to Sam, Dean," Buffy said softly, seemingly reading his mind and the fear that he had that he wasn't good enough to keep Sam safe. He'd never purposely let anything happen to Sam, but what if he wasn't fast enough? Strong enough? Smart enough? And it cost Sam his life?_

"_Listen, I hate to ask, but our sources on this Gate, hell any Devil's Gate really, are tapped out. Can you see if you can find anything?"_

"_I'll try. You know, if you were calling about beheading techniques or which weapon slices and dices the undead the best, I'd be your girl. But research… not so much. I'll see what I can find and call you back."_

"_Thanks, Buffy."_

"_No problem. Talk to you soon."_

_Soon turned out to be after midnight. Sam opened a grumpy eye at the noise and grunted something unintelligible as Dean snatched up the ringing phone and headed outside. Buffy's name lit up the screen and he answered it with a sleep roughened, "Whadya find?"_

"_Sorry it took so long. Giles jumped on my sudden interest like Faith at a leather sale. I think he told me about every Devil's Gate in existence. So, according to Giles, the walking encyclopedia of evil, a Devil's Gate is kinda like a Hellmouth. Like a little mouth. But while a Hellmouth is a natural occurrence, a weak spot between here and Hell that constantly oozes evil vibes, kinda like swiss cheese, a Devil's Gate was made by something big and nasty breaking into our world and creating a thin spot, a way into hell, more like dough that got spread too thin and can be poked right through. Sorry, I guess I'm hungry… Anyway, the Hellmouth is huge and you need all kinds of rituals to open it. A Devil's Gate is much smaller and can be locked up by anyone with a decent amount of mojo and the right sealing rituals but it only needs a key to open it again."_

"_But, if it only needs a key to open it, what's with all the ritualistic murders around here?"_

"_There's more. The Devil's Gate in Clifton is dead according to the Council. Some demon tried to open it back in the 50's and the Slayer at the time went in guns ablazin' and something bad went down, like the beams crossed or something, and the whole place went kabloo-y."_

"_So… what? It's not a gate into Hell anymore?"_

"_Nope. They're not even sure how it happened. The Slayer died in the explosion so there's no way to tell. They say it's completely gone though."_

"_If it's closed, what's with all the activity around here lately? What the hell is going on?"_

"_Well… I hate to say it… but it sounds trap-y to me."_

_Dean's heart thudded in his chest. Someone or something had set this up. Either to draw the attention of any hunter or specifically for dad. Shit…_

"_Thanks, Buf. I gotta go."_

_Snapping the phone shut he rushed back into the room. The lights were on and Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking tussled but alert._

"_Was it dad?"_

_The question gave Dean a slight pang of relief that he didn't have time to fully enjoy. He was starting to worry about the relationship between dad and Sam, Sam seemed to be getting more and more discontent with the way they lived and dad wasn't exactly a man of patience. But Sam's words were softly loaded with the tone of a son worrying about his father and wanting to hear that he was alright, and that gave Dean hope that things weren't as bad as he thought they were._

"_No, but I got some info on what's going on here," he said throwing on a flannel shirt over his henley and checking the clip in his gun as he relayed what Buffy had told him. _

"_How'd you find out about this?"_

"_I got contacts, too, dude," he answered, not sure why he wasn't being upfront but not feeling the need to dwell on it. _

_He looked up to find Sam throwing on his clothes._

"_What are you doing?"_

"_You're not going alone, Dean," Sam said, pulling on his boots. _

"_We don't even know what's doing this, Sam."_

"_All the more reason for me to be there," Sam said, standing and meeting his brothers eyes. "You go in by yourself, you're likely to end up just like dad. Then of course I'll just have to come looking for you and then something will probably happen to me. So, see, it's safer for me just to go with you now."_

_Dean gawked at his little brothers crazy reasoning skills before shaking his head and laughing softly._

"_Alright, kid. Let's go save the old man."_

_It turned out that a coven of witches had wanted revenge on John for killing one of their sisters, setting the whole thing up to draw him in. He'd figured out what was going on, but by then it was almost too late. Escaping into the warren of twisting, turning, underground tunnels around where the Devil's Gate had been had seemed like a good idea to John at the time, but after days of wandering the pitch black paths, he had started questioning his choice. Eventually, he'd found an exit - only to run right into the witches he'd been running from in the first place. That was when Dean and Sam had shown up. Just in time and armed to the teeth._

_Dean called a florist in Sunnydale the next day and had two dozen pink roses (which the florist assured him meant "thank you") sent to her with a card reading, "Everything's fine. Thanks for the help. And kissing me would _not_ be weird."_


	5. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Three**

Faith and Dean just stared at each other a moment - Dean's brow furrowed and his shoulders slumped as he tried to recover from the shock and disappointment that hit him with all the delicacy of a sledge hammer. Faith sighed and turned away with a mumbled, "Fuck…".

"Wait!" He caught up to her in a handful of long irritated strides - stepping into her path, he threw his arms out to his side in exasperation. "You don't know where she is either?"

He'd thought for sure this time…

Faith, instead of looking aggravated by him bodily blocking her from leaving, just looked sad and even a little guilty. "Nah, ain't seen her for… don't know. Last summer sometime."

Last summer, that'd be about eight to ten months ago. Still better than what he had, it had been spring the last time he'd spoken with her.

"Where was she? Do you know where she was going? Did something happen?"

The questions were rapid fired and desperation tinged, but he didn't care at this point. His disappointment was threatening to choke him and if he didn't get something to go on tonight… he needed _something_. Some hint that he wasn't just wasting his time, that she was out there somewhere. Some justification for his search.

"First, tell me how you know B," Faith said, hooking her fingers in her back pockets, not looking threatening but not looking ready to spill everything she knew either.

Dean hesitated, not used to talking about Buffy to anyone. "Well, we met about seven years ago in L.A. - after she killed Angel. We've been friends since."

"She never said anything about you."

Dean shrugged, "I never talk about her either. It's just how we work. Haven't you ever wanted something that you didn't have to share?"

Faith eyed him, before shaking her head slightly. "Damn, B always did get the pretty ones…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Come on. Let's get a drink, I'll give you the rundown."

The night air had gained a chill, a cold wind occasionally gusting through the branches, rattling the leaves. Faith's pace was easy and relaxed, but her eyes constantly shifted over the scenery as she lead him south.

"I was here last year - around May or June. Was here for a week and there was nothing. No Slayers, no monsters, all peace and quiet."

"Yeah, Hellmouths all got real quiet after the one in Cali went boom. They've got their cojones back now though," she answered as they approached the gate. "Still nothin' like the one in SunnyD though. Man, that thing could really pump out the evil."

The tone in her voice was almost wistful, and at his questioning glance she just shrugged. "One thing you can say about good ole Sunnyhell - there was never a dull moment. Here, you stake a couple vamps a night, prevent an apocalypse a couple times a year, and that's that. Although it has been a little more mouthy lately…"

They walked down a few dimly lit side streets in silence, Faith's watchful gaze on their surroundings making Dean paranoid. Soon the residential neighborhood gave way to light commerce. Coming to a small strip mall, Faith led him to the place on the end with blacked out windows and a glowing orange sign that read "Willy's".

Stepping inside, they found themselves in a small alcove with another door - which was blocked by a huge mountain of a man with black hair pulled into a long ponytail. Seeing Faith, he slid out of the way immediately and allowed them entrance.

The interior of the bar was like any other hole in the wall booze joint - neon beer signs, dim lighting, a few pool tables and a dart board. The one huge difference between this place and any other dingy bar Dean had ever been to was that most of the scattered customers looked distinctly… not human. A short guy with dark greased back hair in a red bowling shirt was tending bar and as soon as he caught sight of them, he waved his dishtowel at them.

"Slayer!" He called out loudly. Very loudly. "Good to see you again. SLAYER!"

Dean watched as some of the demony clientele slipped out the back. Glancing at Faith, he saw her smiling slightly and shaking her head.

"The more shit changes, the more it stays the same," she said, heading for a table near the back corner. The demons and humans that hadn't fled at the sight of her immediately cleared the area.

"So, uh, Faith… Good to see ya!" The bartender said, coming up next to the table. "And ya brought a friend! Ya know what I say, any friend a the Slayer's is a-"

"Willy, shut up and get us a couple beers."

"Beers! Coming right up," he said with a big nervous grin, turning and rushing back to the bar, seemingly glad to get away from them.

"Old Sunnydale res," Faith said, nodding toward the bar. "Makes a lotta money off the demons flockin' to the Hellmouth."

Looking around again, Dean had to ask, "And you just let them… drink and be merry?"

"Most of 'em are harmless enough," she said with a shrug. "I try not to cause any problems here, that way the demons keep on comin' and Willy keeps getting an earful, ya know? They all know if I catch them out side though… game on."

Willy reappeared with two chilled bottles and sat them down on the table, opening his mouth to no doubt start his rambling again, but Faith waved him off before he could get a word out. Taking a swig, she leaned back in her seat, her dark eyes pinned on him.

"So, when was the last time you talked to B?"

"The day after Sunnydale got erased from the map," Dean replied, the memory of seeing that crater on the news so fresh it was like it just happened yesterday. He took a pull from his own bottle. "Said she had some serious plans involving sleep and that was it. Two months later I tried to call and her number was disconnected. Been looking for her since."

Faith nodded, "Yeah, we all got our sleep. But you know how it is, gotta wake up sometime…"

Her voice had gone dark and her eyes slipped off to the side, watching, but not really watching, a tall, thin, green skinned demon flinging darts with reckless abandon. Sighing she turned her attention back to Dean.

"Guess I better back up a little. Don't know how much you know, but things were things were tense before we took down the First," Faith said. "Some shit went down and… well, they basically voted B off the island."

"Not following."

"She lead 'em into a fight that got ugly - girls died, were hurt, Xander lost an eye. Willow, Xander, Anya, Giles, Dawn, the Potentials - they told her they wanted me to lead 'em instead."

Dean's eyes narrowed, fury crawling up his spine and making his shoulders tense.

"Hey," Faith said, catching his dark look. "Not my idea. I'll admit I spent a lotta time trying to take what was B's, but I didn't go there for that. But what could I do? There was a war going on, and they wouldn't follow her. Anyway… things didn't turn out so good. Turns out, I'm not captain material," Faith said, her voice was bland but Dean could see by the way her grip on her bottle tightened that she wasn't nearly as apathetic about it as she seemed.

"Long story short, B came back, they made up. No one was sure if we'd live through that last battle, guess they didn't wanna go out with things like that between 'em," Faith said, taking a drink. "But the damage was done, man. She'd led them through thick and thin and they'd turned on her. And Dawn… B fucking _died_ for her and the girl goes and kicks her outta the house. They stuck a band aid over a bullet hole before we fought, but when it was over, it all just bled out again."

Dean's mind reeled at this new information, Buffy hadn't mentioned anything about that. Nothing. It made something in him twist to know she'd been holding out on him. They'd shared just about every major moment in their lives for six years, how could she not tell him about this? And a darker part of him hissed that he should have been there, backed her up himself.

"They tried to just ignore it for a while, ya know - that things weren't the same," Faith continued. "Giles got into the old Council's funds and whisked us all off to- well, I can't tell ya that. Anyway, Slayer Central was born. They decided they'd gather up old Watchers and send them and the girls that were already trained out to find other Slayers - bring 'em back, train 'em, and then deploy 'em where they were needed."

"Sounds like an army."

"That's exactly what it was. B didn't like that. She agreed that the girls needed to be found and trained, to know they weren't alone. But she thought that they needed their family and friends more. She said we couldn't just jerk 'em outta their lives and recruit 'em to fight evil," Faith sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Of course this started all kinds of debates about 'duty' and 'responsibility' and all that shit."

"Buffy hated that," Dean said shaking his head as he leaned forward on his elbows. "Being forced into fighting. She would want those girls to have what she never had - a choice. What about her friends? You? Did any of you back her up?"

"No," Faith said bluntly. "My years before slaying were crap. I woulda given anything to be part of something like that. I probably wouldn't have been such a screw up either. And the Scoobies, they all sided with Giles, too. I guess that was the last straw for her. She just blew up, dude," a smile was forming on Faith's face as she got a far away look in her eyes. "She just fuckin' let them have it. Basically told 'em all to go fuck themselves and that she was sick of their crap, said she was done. Nobody went after her, not that I blame them, she was fuckin' scary. They just figured she'd calm down sooner or later. They always did that - took her for granted. Thought she'd always do her 'duty' and save their asses. Not this time. Next morning she was gone with all her crap and the scythe."

Faith paused to finish her beer and signal to Willy for another, glancing at Dean and seeing him nod, she held up two fingers.

"For a while things were alright," she went on. "Girls were gettin' found, brought in, trained, Xander was headin' up ops, Red was using her witchy mojo to track 'em down, Giles was collectin' up old Watchers and trainin' new ones. But then it started gettin' ugly. Girls got homesick, it wasn't fun anymore, it was scary and they didn't like carrying that weight . Havin' their lives on the line and being responsible for the lives of everyone else. Then there were others that the power got to." Faith's eyes darkened and her face went blank. "You hand a kid that's had nothin' all her life this power and well… some take it and do right with it. But others… that strength, that control, that feeling that nothing' can stop you, there's nothin' you can't do - it's addictive. It'll fly you higher than you ever been and crash you down lower than dirt. Twists you all up inside until you don't even know who you are anymore."

Faith's dark gaze stared into nothing for a moment before ticking her eyes to him and away again, shaking her head slightly and staying quiet while Willy brought over two more beers and scurried off again.

"Anyway, there's been a bunch of arguing about how to deal with it. I finally figured out it wasn't for me - problem solvin', babysittin', trainin' and order. Psh. It was time for me to get back to what I was meant to do - slayin'. So I packed up, gave those whiney bitches the finger and here I am. Guess I was kinda hopin' B would pop up, maybe things could get back to the way the were before. Me and her kickin' some evil ass. Things were good then…"

Dean resisted the urge to say "Before you went evil." He was still pissed about the way things went down, how Buffy had had no one to back her. But it also seemed like Faith at least realized how badly they'd fucked up (and getting his ass kicked by a girl wasn't on the night's game plan), so he let it slide.

"So, that's it then? She disappeared into the night with her Slicin' Slayer Weapon O' Death and that's it?"

Faith nodded, taking a swig of the fresh beer.

"What about Angel?" Dean asked. "I went to L.A. and stopped at Wolfram and Hart. They acted like he never existed."

Faith's eyebrows rose. "Well, well, look at you, all well informed and shit... Last time I talked to Angel was early in the year, he hadn't heard anything from B either. And after he heard what had happened, he said he wouldn't help us find her - said we'd done enough and to just leave her the hell alone."

For once, Dean actually felt a sliver of respect for Angel. He'd never liked the man… vampire. Never thought he was good enough for Buffy, had caused her too much pain, but he'd respected Buffy enough to hold his tongue.

"So, that's what I did. Just decided to come here and if she wanted to talk, she'd show up sooner or later. The others didn't really like that idea, guess they thought they should track her down and guilt her back, but things were still rough around there and gettin' rougher, so they stopped lookin' too. Then, come around the end of spring, Wolfram and Hart suddenly falls apart. All the branches 'cept for L.A. disappear, and that one's pretty much a joke. Angel and his Fang Gang are all gone without a trace."

"You think that has anything to do with Buffy?"

"Doubt it. Suppose she coulda been there, but the way I see it, Angel was going into a fight he knew he wasn't walkin' away from. The rest of his team were in it with him, ra ra go team and all that, ya know," Faith said with an eye roll and a small affectionate smile. "But this was fight that was personal for them, or else they woulda called. But since he knew the odds were against them, he didn't want any lives lost that didn't have a personal stake in it. I know Angel woulda wanted to keep her outta that, but with B, who knows."

Dean tossed the new information around in his head, wondering if it was something to follow up on. Buffy had already been missing from "Slayer Central" at that point for almost a year.

"I can practically _feel _the wheels grindin', man."

"What do you think happened?"

Faith shrugged, "I'm guessing Angel's dust in the wind. He and his merry band of misfits finally found a way to take out the beast and went for it. Damn if they didn't pretty much do it too. Wolfram and Hart is nothing these days. But I don't think any of them survived it."

Faith's tone was once again bland and uncaring, but her dark eyes wouldn't meet Dean's and her grip had tightened so much on her bottle that he could see a crack creeping up the neck. He'd heard many things about Faith over the years he'd known Buffy - from the beginning when she was "attention seeking and skanky" to being "a good friend and someone to share the burden with", to being "an evil bitch that was going down", to being someone that Buffy "hated but could see that she was broken". Since it had seemed to be Faith's mission in life there for a while to toment Buffy, Dean had always had a tough time accepting Buffy's claim that Faith was trying to change for the better. Looking at her now he could see what Buffy had been seeing - someone who didn't want people to care about her, who'd been let down too many times, who saw the world through jaded eyes, but also someone that cared deeply even if she didn't want to show it, who had made a lot of mistakes and was trying to make up for the ones she could and trying to live with the ones she couldn't.

"Listen, I've gotta finish patrolling," Faith said, looking a little embarrassed - making Dean realize he'd been studying her. She drained the remainder of her beer and stood. "If you find B… tell her we're five by five in my book."

And with that she was gone, leaving Dean alone in the dank little bar feeling more lost than he had before he came to Cleveland. Sure, he'd gotten a little more information on what had happened with Buffy in that missing time, but he was no closer to finding out where she was now. He could try to find more on what happened at Wolfram and Hart, but he had a feeling that would be a time consuming and maybe even dangerous venture. Which would be fine if he didn't have Sammy with him and if dad weren't missing.

No. This was it. He'd had his focus split for long enough. Dad and Sammy needed him.

His heart clenched even as his head made the decision.

Wandering up to the bar, he sat his empty bottle down and asked Willy for a bourbon. Lynyrd Skynyrd's mellow heartfelt Simple Man was playing in the background as he took a large swallow and tried to fight back the darkness and desolation threatened to tear him apart.

This was it. He had to accept she was gone. Whether she was alive or dead, he couldn't just keep clutching at straws, not when his family needed his full attention.

He almost hoped one of the demons would start something just so he could have an outlet for his anger and disappointment. But none did and Willy kept pouring.


	6. Phone Call Interlude Three

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Three**

_The bar down the road from their hotel was like any other small town bar - loud and crowded, filled with all the locals looking to have a good time. Dean was currently in the middle of hustling some guys in a game of pool so text book that he could have done it in his sleep. It almost wasn't worth the money it was so boring. He had already lost two games and was going double for nothing, only about four shots from victory, when his phone rang. Making another easy shot, he straightened from where he'd been bent over the table and fished the singing phone from his pocket. _

_The name across the screen brought a grin to his face. He stepped back from the table and leaned his cue against the wall, waving a hand at the money stacked on the small round bar table, weighed down with a blue chalk square._

"_Gotta go boys, I forfeit," Dean said, turning away from the table._

"_What the hell? You're just leaving? You were about to win!" One guy called out his eyes wide with disbelief._

"_Some things are more important than money," he called back with a shrug and a smile._

_He distinctly heard one of them say the word "whipped" but the shot at his pride was easily overridden by the thought of the girl on the other end of the line. _

_Manuevering his way through the crowd, he ignored the waitress he'd been planning on going home with that night and flipped his phone open._

"_Buffy, hang on just a second," he answered, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her until he got outside but not wanting her to hang up. _

_The night air hit him with a warm blast as he stepped out of the bar, the silence leaving a faint ringing in his ears. Summer was coming in quickly here in Oklahoma and the air was heavy with the feel of approaching rain as he strode across the gravel lot toward the Impala, his boots shifting the rocks with a soft crunch with each step. _

"_Sorry __about that. You know, __only the hottest women can drag __me out of the bar this early __in the night. You should be flattered__."_

_When there was no answering snort or smartass comeback, he pulled his phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn't been dropped. But no, it was still connected. "Buffy?" He tried again._

_This time he heard a faint sound, a hitched breath and a choked sob. His steps halted immediately, the sound of the shifting gravel echoing slightly before silence fell. He could here her now - hear her crying. _

"_Buffy, what happened?" His words were slow and clear, his fingers tightening around the phone, grip in danger of cracking the plastic._

_After a few more cut off sobs and a low keening sound that made something in his chest threaten to crack open, she finally spoke._

"_He's gone," she said, her voice wavery and thick. "I'm just b-being stupid. I knew he was l-leaving, but now he's really gone. I just-"_

_Her rambling stopped as another sob tore its way free and Dean's mind raced to figure out what she was talking about._

"_I don't know what I'm s-supposed to do without him. I thought I was ready. But it's one thing when he's still around, still there. But now he's gone and…"_

_Then it clicked - Angel. She was talking about that damn vampire. He was so sick of that sonofabitch making her cry. She'd just called him a few months ago and told him about their break-up. There hadn't been any crying then luckily, although it was close a few times, but there had been an emptiness to her words that had bothered him. While Dean didn't like the idea of them together, he hated that she was hurting. And, even if he'd never say so to Buffy, the reason was stupid. She was the Slayer. Did the vampire really think that a wedding and kids and picket fences were anywhere in her future just because he wasn't? To have someone like Buffy love him and just throw it away… What a fucking idiot. _

"_I'm sorry. Calling you like this and being all p-pathetic and weepy. It just kinda hit me out of nowhere and everyone thinks I'm handling it s-so well and I don't want to see them all wearing that 'oh poor Buffy' look anymore."_

"_So you call me because you can't see me?"_

"_No, I know you're not wearing the look," she answered, her voice a little stronger. "You're wearing the 'I wish I was in a room with Angel and some pointy wood' look. And, while disturbing, it makes me feel a little better. Which it shouldn't…"_

_Dean chuckled humorlessly and resumed his trek to the car, hearing more than feeling the first fat drop of rain hit his shoulder. She sighed heavily in his ear before she continued. _

"_I don't know what to do without him…"_

"_You want me to tell you it'll get better? Because it will, but who knows when," he said bluntly, reaching the Impala and sliding into the driver's seat as the bottom dropped out. He slammed the door on the rain and just sat in the dark interior, leaning back in his seat and watching the water cascade down the windshield. "You want me to tell you to let him go? I don't think you can. I think it'll just happen one day on its own - it's not something you can force. Life will go on, other responsibilites with distract you from missing him and then, suddenly, you'll realize that you've been living without him even though you didn't think you could - that it doesn't hurt to think about him like it used to. You just have to find a way to keep it from ripping you apart between now and then."_

"…_was that what it was like with your mom?"_

_Her voice was soft and hesitant, unsure whether she was stepping into an area that was off limits. _

"_Was probably like that when your dad left, too," Dean both answered and didn't answer_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Just try not to think about him. Go out and get your slay on. Kicking the shit out of the undead always makes me feel better about everything. And if you feel the need to get 'weepy and pathetic', just call me."_

"_You're always there when I need you," she said with soft sniffley gratitude. "Thanks, Dean."_

"_I just meant so I could make fun of you," Dean said, trying to pull himself out the quicksand like chick-flick moment he somehow got caught in. "So, did you kill the mayor yet?"_

"_Yep, and blew up the school doing it."_

_Dean sat up a little straighter and his eyebrows rose, "Blew up the- wait, didn't you already blow up a school?"_

"_Nah, just burnt the gym down. Small potatoes."_

"_Man, I bet that little troll of a principal was all over your ass."_

"_First, eww at the visual. And second, he got ate by the mayor when he turned into a giant snake."_

"_Holy shit… that sounds… _awesome_."_

_The burst of laughter that came through the other end of the line eased the tension in his shoulders and let him breath a little easier. There was something about an upset Buffy that really tugged at his heart. Usually girls crying just made him want to run away, but it was different with Buffy._

"_God, Dean! That's horrible! Your twisted sense of humor's rubbing off on me," she accused, trying to fight back the giggles. "Uhg, living on the Hellmouth has definitely warped me. That poor man, he didn't deserve to die like that."_

"_Yeah, that almost sounded sincere, Buf. Keep working on it," he said with a snort. "So, the principal got eaten, the school got blown up, and the mayor's dead. What about his evil little Slayer minion?"_

_There was a beat of silence before she answered. _

"_I stabbed her."_

_Dean, who'd let his eyes drift close while he enjoyed the sound of Buffy's voice combined with the sound of the rain on the Impala's roof, snapped them back open. _

"_What?" He asked, sure he hadn't heard right._

"_She tried to kill Angel and I stabbed her."_

_To anyone else, Buffy's voice would have sounded blank and unremorseful. But Dean could tell otherwise, he could hear that almost undetectable quiver at the end of the statement._

"_Holy shit… is she dead?"_

"_No, she's in a coma."_

"_You stabbed her into a coma?" _

"_Well, she fell off a building after I stabbed her…"_

"_Buffy, you're making my brain hurt playing Hellmouth Massacre Puzzle, I've had too many beers to put the pieces together. Just start from the beginning and tell me what's been going on since the last time I talked to you," Dean said, turning and stretching out along the bench seat and getting comfortable._

_And she did. The rain kept falling, unloading its weight from the sky like the tale Buffy told seemed to unburden her. As the rain lightened and the moon peeked through the clouds he thought he could hear relief in her voice as her story ended. _

_She'd be alright._

_They both would. They had each other after all. _


	7. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Four**

The early morning sun beat down on the quiet neighborhood. At least _now_ it was quiet, just an hour before it had been crawling with cops, paramedics and nosey neighbors. Sam stood behind the latest victims house and rubbed his eyes tiredly - he'd been going pretty much nonstop since he'd arrived. Breaking into Zach's house to check out the crime scene (which had been a hassle since the dog next door wouldn't shut up), studying the security footage Becky had taken from the lawyer, and now trying to get clues from the newest attack. This case was seriously messed up and, not for the first time, he wished Dean was there. His brother's (often skewed) point of view usually picked up on the things Sam was missing.

But Dean was in Cleveland, and despite his promise, only the threat of death or dismemberment would make Sam call him away. He was worried about his brother. Something was seriously wrong and, looking back on it, it had been going on since he'd first come and gotten Sam at Stanford. He was ashamed to admit that he'd missed the signs at first, just attributed them to Dean's worry over their dad. Turns out he was just out of practice reading him… and too self absorbed to look any deeper. But he'd slowly picked up on the strange(er) behavior of his brother over the last few months. The way he'd disappear randomly and come back silent and brooding even though he tried to cover and deflect; his weird new attachment to his phone and the way he dialed it whenever he thought Sam wasn't looking - at first Sam had thought Dean was just trying their dad again and again, but now he was almost certain that wasn't the case. He'd even thought about snatching his phone and checking the number, but it had practically become an extension of his brother's arm. Then there was the thoughtful silences and worried looks; and most noticeably, the lack of attention he was giving women. Granted, the times he'd been disappearing _could_ have meant he was with some girl, and lord knows that's what Dean tried to convince him of whenever he was caught, but Sam knew better. So, if whatever Dean was doing in Cleveland would get him out of this funk, settle whatever had him so restless, or calm what had him so anxious, then there was no way Sam was interrupting.

But that left him on his own on this mind numbing case. He was guessing that this was the work of some kind of shape shifter, but Sam wasn't one to go on 'guessing' - he liked to have evidence to back up his theories. Right now all he had was a weird camera flare and the fact that both Zach and the newest suspect had claimed to be elsewhere when the attacks were happening. He'd even found trails leading out of the back of both Zach's place and the new victim's. But that was where he hit a dead end. The thing just suddenly disappeared in both instances, leaving Sam with nothing left to follow.

Sighing in aggravation, he sank down on the curb, wondering what to do next. Maybe he should go back to Becky's, try and get a few hours sleep and look at this with fresh eyes. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Resting his head in his hands, he tried to scrape together the energy to get back up and found himself staring at a manhole cover.

God, he was an idiot.

The thing wasn't disappearing (or _flying_ - he cringed remembering that particularly bright theory), it was going underground. He'd be willing to bet there was another sewer access point right behind Zach's where he'd lost the trail there.

Feeling reenergized, he pulled himself back to his feet and hurried down the street to the Focus. Opening the trunk and seeing the scattered weapons, he paused as something clenched in him. He really missed his brother. He may not care for the hunting life, but he was glad to have Dean back. Sam decided then and there that if whatever had been bothering Dean wasn't resolved when they met up again, he'd force him to tell him - even if it meant Sam had to spill his own secret as quid pro quo. Who knew, maybe they'd both feel better after getting it off their chests.

A little voice in his head whispered that it might be more along the lines of pouring salt in a wound, though. He ignored it and went back to digging for silver bullets.

Finding the bullets, his gun and a flashlight, he headed back to the manhole and looked around for bystanders before bending down and tugging the plate free. He was about to lower himself down, when the thought of calling Dean floated through his mind again. There'd been a bunch of promises to call if he found trouble or needed back up…

But… It wasn't like he'd _really_ found anything yet anyway, Sam rationalized. He was just checking out a lead… no need to call Dean just yet. His justification (or excuses, whatever) set, he lowered himself down the ladder, one hand gripping the Maglite tightly and using it to slice through the darkness below him.

Reaching the bottom, he looked left, then right, trying to decide which way to go. Finally, he just went right, figuring that if he didn't see anything he could just turn around and try the other direction. Picking his way carefully along the slick path, he tried to focus on looking for clues instead of the gag worthy stench. After a few fruitless moments, he was about to turn around and try his luck down the other way when he came face to face with a pile of what looked to be melted skin and blood. Hastily backing up a step before he puked all over his clue, Sam looked away and willed his stomach not to rebel.

Was this from one of the victims? He hadn't heard anything about anyone being skinned…

There was the barest scuff behind him, that was the only warning he had. He started to turn and his thoughts got to about "Oh sh-" before the blow fell, knocking him into the pipes on his right. His vision flickered and darkened as muscles went limp and uncooperative. There was the a shadow over him, then nothing, then the sensation of being dragged, then nothing again.

When consciousness returned, he tried to open his eyes but found them uncooperative. Shaking his head a little, he felt the scratchy texture on his neck and and also on his hands, which were wrenched behind his back - not making for a very nice welcome to the waking world. Knowing he was tied up, Sam finally pried his eyes open to see he was in a kind of mechanical room, probably something for sewer maintenance. He couldn't really twist enough to see what he was tied to but, he could feel that it was metal and sturdy - not something he was easily going to get away from in other words.

Movement to the left drew his attention and Sam turned his head as much as his bindings would allow to see a man moving around by a pile of clothes. A twin to the Asian man he saw put into the squad car just and hour before.

Seemingly realizing that it was being watched, the shape shifter turned toward Sam and then walked closer. His eyes were drawn to the gun in the things hands - Sam's own gun to be exact.

"Silver bullets, huh?" It asked, its voice nonchalant.

It tossed the gun to the side where it slid for a few feet on the damp scummy floor before coming to a halt and walked over to Sam - looking at him blankly for a moment before rage distorted its face and it backhanded him with lightening quick speed. Sam's already hazy vision darkened again and he forced himself to stay conscious. The shape shifter closed its eyes and took a deep breath before turning away. Pulling off the suit jacket it was wearing it laid it over a nearby pipe before methodically undoing its tie and then the button down shirt, setting them to rest with the jacket.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat," it said. "But I have a new friend I need to visit," it said, turning back toward Sam with a sadistic grin.

Suddenly it doubled over, pain rippling across its face and forcing its eyes closed. Sam had a moment of optimism thinking it was ill or injured, but as he watched he realized that wasn't the case - it was _changing_. Teeth fell out and finger nails snapped off as hands scrabbled across the dirty floor. Bones shifted and skin ripped. Sam watched in horrified fascination, realizing that the pile of skin and tissue he'd seen earlier hadn't been from a victim - it had been from the skin walker shedding its previous identity.

Eyes melted and reformed, snapping open on a fleshless face - _his_ eyes. The thing was planning on taking _his _image.

Becky…

Sam struggled against the ropes holding him and the thing gave him a lipless sinister smile.

Just as desperation was gripping Sam, a person suddenly dropped from nowhere, landing between him and the shape shifter and a little to the left. Sam blinked at the sudden intrusion and glanced up to see a small drainage tunnel above them. Looking back to the visitor he was even more surprised to see it was a small blond girl that looked to be around his age. She looked normal enough in her jeans and white tank top, but what wasn't contributing to her All American Girl image was the huge red axe like weapon she was holding.

Green eyes landed on Sam first and she raised an eyebrow, then she turned to the shape shifter. Her eyes widened in a way that would have been comical under any other circumstance as the thing took a lunging step toward her. She swung the axe looking thing around, the shifting air parting around the blade with an odd humming. The movement was so fast that Sam was sure he would have missed it had he so much as blinked. One second she appeared, the next the shape shifter's head was arcing across the room and its body collapsing with a wet plop, splattering gooey half transformed tissue on the girl.

"Eww… See, this is why I can't own nice things," she grumbled. "Why do I even bother wearing white?"

Glancing up at him, eyes blank despite her annoyed mumbling, she bent down and pulled a wickedly sharp knife from her boot. Before Sam even had a chance to really be alarmed she flung it at him, he flinched back and shut his eyes (he could hear his brother now, "Nice Samantha, you need a bra to go with your panties?"). There was a "thunk" and suddenly he could move his arms again. Opening his eyes, he looked down to the side and saw the knife buried in the metal pole he'd been tied to, having sliced cleanly through the rope.

"…thanks," he said, eyeing the knife in the metal (_in _the_ metal_) with wide eyes and pulling the rest of himself free. He stood slowly and wandered cautiously closer, looking between the girl and the headless pile on the floor. "Uh, I think maybe… I mean, not that you didn't do a good job with your… decapitating. But maybe it still needs a silver bullet to be sure."

"Not with this baby," she said, swinging the red weapon around and making Sam take a hurried step back. "One stop chop for evil. But, hey, go ahead and shoot it if it makes you feel better. It did tie you up in this barf inducing hidey hole. I'd wanna shoot it, too."

Warily turning away from her, he grabbed his gun from where the creature had thrown it and put two bullets in its heart. Or, well, where he guessed its heart would be - it was looking a little melted.

He turned back to see her watching him with shrewd eyes and took the moment to study her as well. Probably about a foot shorter than him with long blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail and green eyes, he'd definitely say she was attractive. But there were signs that this was no normal pretty girl (beside the giant beheading axe she was lugging around). She was a little too thin and there were dark circles beneath her eyes… and those eyes. They're what sent warning bells off in Sam's head. She might look around 23 or 24 but her eyes held a jaded emptiness that told of seeing things Sam couldn't even imagine. And given the things he _had _seen…

"Hunter, right?" Her voice interrupted his thoughts, light and chipper even though her eyes showed no expression.

"Uh, yeah."

"Any other hunters on this case?" She asked, turning away and pulling her knife free as easy as if it were wedged in butter rather than metal, then tucking it back in her boot.

"No, not that I know of."

"Dammit…" Her shoulders dropped and she looked half irritated and half pouting. She looked back at him and cocked her head to the side. "Do you know any hunters named W-"

Her words cut off and her head jerked to the left, looking off down the tunnel and her stance dropped a few inches, her knees bending and one sliding out a few inches - making her look predatory and vaguely animalistic. Sam found his breathing picking up and his heart pounding, a cold sweat breaking out across his body and he didn't even know why.

Then she was gone, sprinting down the tunnel she'd been staring down.

"Hey!"

He looked back at the puddle of shape shifter and decided it wasn't going anywhere, then took off after her. But when he reached the junction at the end of the path, there was no sign of her. He stood still, trying to hear splashing footsteps or anything to signal which way she'd gone. For a second he thought he heard something like a dog howling, but it didn't seem to come from any particular direction and it was so faint and gone so quickly that he decided it just must have been the pipes.

He stood there for a few more minutes, waiting to see if she'd come back, then wandered back to the shape shifter's lair. Both the head and the body had melted into piles of tissue, and it didn't seem that the blonde was planning on coming back, so Sam decided it was time to return to Becky's. He still needed to find a way to get Zach cleared after all.

Climbing out of the sewer, Sam decided that maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to tell Dean about how he went looking for a shape shifter's lair with no back up, got ambushed and almost killed.

Then got saved by a tiny blond girl.

Yeah, he was definitely keeping this one to himself.


	8. Phone Call Interlude Four

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Four**

_Buffy wandered around the kitchen, digging in awe through all the yummy snacks her mom had stashed in every corner. She didn't remember there being so much good stuff when she'd lived there, but that may be the poor deprived dorm living part of her brain speaking. She'd taken all the free goodies at home for granted when she'd lived there, now she was a pathetic college student that lived off the crappy food on campus. Or maybe mom was just taking advantage of not having Buffy's Slayer appetite picking her cupboards bare. _

_Pulling out a giant bag of cheesy puffs, she headed into the living room, glancing at the clock as she went. She was supposed to be meeting Riley in a little while but had wanted to visit with her mom first. Of course she hadn't called before she left, because that would be the smart thing to do. So here she was, eating cheesy puffs on her mom's couch in an empty house. _

_Actually, given the last few months, hell, the last year really, this was a nice change. She'd take vegging and pilfering tasty treats over evil professors, demon hunting G.I. Joes and crazy Frankenstein things any day. Not to mention trying to keep up with her actual class work. She never thought there'd actually be a day when she'd miss high school. _

_She'd just sat down and put the first deliciously fattening puff in her mouth when the phone rang. Closing her eyes and huffing an irritated sigh through her nose, she went back into the kitchen and answered it with a bland, "Summers' residence."_

"_Buffy," a deep familiar voice said on the other end. _

"_Dean!" She broke out into a wide grin and hopped up onto the kitchen counter. "Good timing, I've only been here a few minutes."_

"_Actually, I was calling for your mom."_

"_My- What?"_

"_Well, since I haven't been able to get ahold of you much this year, me and Joyce… well, we've gotten pretty close. You might have to start calling me daddy."_

"_Oh, gross," Buffy said in disgust, but also with a fought back giggle. Dean just laughed at her, probably enjoying the fact that he'd just scarred her for life. _

"_You haven't really been talking to my mom, have you?"_

"_Why? Jealous?"_

"_Just don't want you breaking her heart, playboy," Buffy answered with a smirk, popping another cheesy puff in her mouth._

"_No worries. I called a couple times, hung up when she answered."_

"_Oh, so now she just thinks you're a creep," Buffy laughed. "Not that she'd be wrong…"_

"_Hey, I resent that."_

"_No you don't, you take pride in it."_

"_Depends on your definition of being a 'creep'."_

"_So, besides your love affair with my mother, what's been going on with you?"_

"…_nothing."_

"_That's not 'nothing' voice, that's definitely 'something' voice," Buffy said, her eyes narrowing as she caught the scent of Dean hiding something. _

"_Nah, what about you? What's been on the evil ass kicking agenda lately?"_

_Hmm, so he wanted to play it like that, huh? Must be something personal, something involving feelings - he was always blunt and upfront when he wanted to talk about a hunt but when it came to something bothering him on an emotional level, it was all deflection and beating around the bush. That's okay, she could wait him out. _

"_Well, there was this demon robot dude… which sounds really lame when I say it out loud, so lets move on."_

_Dean chuckled slightly, "What about Riley? He treating you right?"_

_Riley… she glanced at the clock again - yep, she was going to be late. But she couldn't really find it in herself to be bothered by it. She knew Riley wouldn't be mad, that's just how he was - caring and forgiving, open and upfront, a true good guy. Not like Dean at all with his deflection and hate of "chick flick moments", his womanizing and smartass comments, his fiery temper and passion, his… whoa, need to stop there. It sounded really bad when she compared them like that, like Riley was vanilla ice cream and Dean was Rocky Road with fudge and whip cream… UGH! What was wrong with her? _

_Then suddenly, there it was, the thought that had her freezing with a cheesy puff halfway to her mouth. Riley and Dean actually_ weren't_ that different. They both were fiercely protective and righteous, saving lives and fighting evil and getting nothing in return, both tall and well built, short dark blond hair, hazel eyes, killer bodies. _

_Riley was just… here. _

_Stop. Stopstopstop. Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts. She needed to quarantine that area and never visit it again. _

"_Yeah, Riley's fine," she answered simply, suddenly not wanting to talk about Riley at all._

_There was a brief pause, where she knew Dean had noticed that she took too long to answer and was debating whether to dig. Please don't, please don't, please don-_

"_And college?," he finally asked, making her sigh in relief. "How's that going?"_

"_Eh, alright I guess. I'm glad summer breaks here."_

"_I, uh, found some college brochures in Sam's bag," he went on, his voice overly light. "He's about to be a senior, you know."_

_Bingo… _

"_And what were you doing in Sam's bag?"_

"_You want me to make up an excuse? You know me better than that, Buf. I just felt like going through his crap, so I did."_

_She laughed, loving his completely unapologetic attitude. "So, college for Sammy, huh? Well, he shouldn't have any problems getting accepted anywhere if he's half the brain you claim he is."_

"_Well, no, any college would be lucky to have him. But it's not like he's actually going."_

"_He's not? Then why's he looking?"_

"_I don't know. He says he doesn't want to be a hunter, he doesn't want to live like this forever. Like he can really just run off and live some normal apple pie life."_

"_I wanted that once, still kinda do. Just know better now. Maybe it's a good thing he's still naïve enough to think he can have it, that he still has some innocence. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss."_

"_Ignorance and just ignoring something are two totally different things. He knows what's out there, he can't just… un-know it."_

"_We both now how powerful the human mind can be about ignoring the things it doesn't want to deal with, Dean. We see it every day."_

"_Yeah, you're right… And Sammy's got enough stubbornness in him that he might actually be able to pull it off… But what about the thing that killed mom? He can't just turn his back on her like that."_

_He can't just turn his back on me - that's what Buffy heard loud and clear. _

"_You don't want to lose him."_

"…_who's gonna look out for him?"_

"_He'll have to look out for himself."_

_Dean gave a skeptical snort and kept quiet._

"_I know you've given everything for him, Dean. Who's the one that taught him to read? Helped him with his homework? He is who he is because of you. The only reason he has the opportunity to do this is because of you."_

"_So this is my fault? I made him want to leave his family?" Dean said, she could practically feel his anger and hurt radiating out of the phone._

"_No, you made him into a smart, independent person. You prepared him for life. If you try and make him stay, he'll just resent you. He has to find out for himself. He's not in as deep as we are - no chosen destiny weighing him down, and he had you sheltering him from the worst of it. Who knows? Maybe he can do it, live a normal life. Go to an ivy league school, get married, have kids, the whole deal. And he'd have those things because of you."_

"_So, what? He's just going to… leave? And I have to just let him?"_

"_He has to go try and live the way he wants and you have to live with the fact that you did your best to give him all the options available to him. Whether he follows the path you wanted or not."_

_Dean was silent a long time, before he sighed. _

"_So, what's really going on with you and Riley - 'Riley'… sounds like a puppy name."_

_Buffy cringed, both because she should have known he'd be back to poke at this subject with a sharp stick and the fact that Riley _did_ kinda sound like a puppy name. And he was kinda like a puppy…_

_But- but puppies were good! Cute and cuddly and loyal and-_

"_Nothing! Nothing's wrong with me and Riley. We're definitely of the good. Good times for Buffy and Riley Finn. Who is like no one I know. Unique Riley…"_

_Dean burst out laughing, a nice departure from his earlier lost and worried mood, but the cat-that-caught-the-canary edge to it left Buffy nervous, which proved to be right on when he said, "Oh, nervous Buffy Babble. I must have hit pay dirt."_

"_Nope, no dirt here. All clean - I mean, not too clean. Because that would be boring. And Riley's not boring. At all. More like a dusty clean, or… or…" Buffy sighed and gave up. This was Dean after all, and she could talk to Dean about anything. Continuing in a less manic tone she just said, "I don't know, I thought everything was fine, but… I've been having some thoughts recently" very recently… "and I'm not sure what to make of them. But everything's fine, other than me being a spaz." _

"_You sure?" The serious concerned tone that replaced his teasing made her throat close up a little. Damn, this was bad…_

"_Yep! If I have a melt down I'll know who to call, but for now everything's good," she said, forcing herself to sound chipper and certain but also knowing it was no good, Dean wouldn't buy it. Time to make a break for it, "But things might not be for long if I don't get out of here, I'm supposed to be meeting him, so I'll have to talk to you later."_

_Dean paused and she knew his curiosity was piqued, but luckily he just said, "Alright then, but if you need anything…"_

_She smiled, her throat doing that weird thing again, "Yeah, I know, Dean. Thanks."_

_After they both hung up, she stared at the phone for a long time. Trying to convince herself that everything was fine, she and Riley were fine. There were no… more-than-a-friend type feelings for Dean Winchester making her feel like she had heartburn. _

_Nope… definitely not._


	9. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Five**

Sam treaded down the stairs slowly, rubbing his burning gritty eyes. After getting back to Becky's (and taking a shower before she noticed he smelled like a sewer) he'd done some work on Zach's case, sending what he found straight to the lawyer and then digging for more until the wee hours of the morning when he finally fell asleep. It was only around eight now and he damn sure didn't want to be up yet, but the lawyer was supposed to be calling soon with the results of the information Sam had provided him. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, he blinked a couple times at Becky, who was crouched down and peering out of the window.

"Beck…what are you doing?"

"There's some guy out there," she said, tossing him a disgruntled look. "He was already there when I got up an hour ago, who knows how long he's been there. Probably some skeevy reporter looking to interview 'the sister of a murderer'. As if there weren't enough of those already…"

Sam's mouth twisted down in anger, as if Becky didn't have enough going on, now she had to deal with this crap. As Sam moved to the front door the house phone started ringing.

"You go answer that, I'll take care of the guy out there."

Becky shot him a grateful look and rushed off to the other room.

Stepping out in the bright morning light, Sam wasn't prepared to see the Impala parked across the street, Dean apparently being the "skeevy" guy Becky had been talking about. A grin broke out across his face, both from Beck's description and because it was damn good to see his brother again.

Moving toward the familiar black car with swift strides, Sam's smile fell a little more with each step. His brother was awake, but didn't seem to notice Sam's approach - just staring through the windshield. Sam leaned in the passenger window and asked for the second time that morning, "What are you doing?"

Dean started and jerked his head around to look at Sam, proving that his brother really hadn't noticed him and wasn't just ignoring him. Sam's stomach dropped when he took in his brothers ragged appearance. Blood shot eyes framed by dark circle and a few days worth of beard growth. Come to think of it, it didn't look like he'd shaved _or_ changed since Sam had seen him last. He was almost positive Dean had been wearing that exact same thing when they parted ways in Ohio the day before yesterday. A soft breeze suddenly moved air through the open windows of the car, bringing the smell of alcohol to Sam.

"Dude, are you _drunk_?"

Dean's face twisted in a familiar look of distain and he said, "Are you?"

His voice was raspy but not slurred. Sam sighed in relief. His brother hadn't been acting like himself lately, but driving the Impala while wasted was apparently still a Dean Winchester no-no.

"But you _are_ hung-over."

"So? What, are you the fucking hangover police now? You're gigantic and a geek, but I don't give you shit about it."

"Yes, you do. All the time."

"Oh yeah…"

Pulling the door open, Sam slid in, felling a flash of satisfaction at the wince Dean gave at the slamming door.

"Dude, what's going on with you?"

Dean just stared out the window for a moment, making Sam think he was just going to stonewall him. But then Dean looked over at him and Sam's breath caught as their eyes met. There was something raw and dark in his brother's tired gaze. Something he'd never seen in him before.

"Talk to me," he pleaded, leaning forward.

Dean looked torn, his face twisting and his eyes closing as he opened his mouth.

Sam held his breath…

Then Rebecca burst out of the front door calling Sam. Shooting an alarmed look up at her, he relaxed at seeing the smile on her face. Turning back to his brother his heart sank, Dean was blocked off from him again, his eyes looking back down the road.

"Nothing to talk about, Sam. It's done."

It burned in Sam to press, to ask what was "done", but Dean had closed his eyes and looked like he was settling in for a nap and Rebecca was waiting up on the porch for him. Sighing and shooting one last look at his brother, he climbed out of the car. Vowing that now matter what Dean claimed, there was definitely something to talk about and this was far from done.

"Everything okay?" She asked when he reached her, looking behind him at the Impala still parked there.

Everything was most definitely _not_ okay, but it had nothing to do with her and Zach and everything to do with whatever his brother was hiding. But there was no need to tell her any of that.

"That's just my brother, he didn't want to wake us."

Her eyes widened and a look of guilt pulled her lips into a frown, "Oh! I'm so sorry! Well, invite him in, he doesn't have to sit out there."

Swallowing awkwardly, Sam just waved a dismissive had toward his brother's car, "He's fine. So what were you yelling about? Need something?"

Glancing doubtfully at the Impala again, she shrugged and then smiled widely. "That was Zach's lawyer on the phone. Apparently a bunch of new evidence came up - other attacks like this one or something, so the police are having to review everything. The lawyer's confident that the charges will be dropped, and even if they're not, there's more than enough to prove reasonable doubt in a trial."

Sam smiled, glad to hear all his hard work was paying off. "That's really great, Becky."

She hugged him suddenly, "Thanks so much for coming, Sam. You've been a real help."

"Me?" He said, hugging her back. "I haven't done anything."

"But you wanted to, you really wanted to help Zach and just having you here made me feel better. Really, thank you, Sam," she said, completely unaware of his late night evidence roundup.

Sam stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck, "No problem, Beck. Wish I could've done more."

"Why don't you and your brother stay for a while? See Zach when he gets out, I know he'd like to see you."

"We really should get going, we're supposed to be… meeting up with our dad. But let me know how things go, okay?"

She looked disappointed, but hugged him again and promised to keep in touch. She asked him to stay again after he'd gathered his things together and was back on the porch, but he declined and waved over his shoulder as he headed back to the Impala.

Dean blinked sleepily at him from the drivers seat.

"Leaving already? Looked like you and that blond chick were pretty close, sure you don't wanna stay another day or two, Sammy?"

It was a typical response from Dean, but what was lacking was the lewd sarcasm. He was completely serious.

"Nah, lets go," Sam said, throwing his duffle in the back and climbing in the passenger seat.

Dean gave a shrug and started the car up. Despite the issue of his brother's weird behavior, Sam felt the tension ease out of him with the familiar sound of the 327 roaring to life, the smell of high octane gas and leather, the gentle vibrations that shifted through the seat and under his feet, and his brother's presence at his side. Home. Part of him was bothered by that comparison - he'd left this life behind. Home had been Jess and Stanford. Normality. But things had changed, boy had they changed. And now the other part of him was grateful for this bit of comfort.

But despite that there was something missing, something wrong in the Impala besides his brother's state of mind. Then he noticed.

The music was off.

Dean had been driving, by himself, in silence.

Reaching over and watching his brothers face, he flicked on the radio, only to have Dean grimace and turn it right back off.

"Headache," he said by way of explanation, much more upfront than Sam was used to. Which probably meant it was a lie...

"Dean, what-"

"So what happened with your friend?"

Sam sighed, deciding to give into his brother's deflection just for the moment.

"They should be releasing him soon. Turns out there were other attacks with the same MO all over the city," he said, not getting into exactly what that MO was because even his tired hung-over brother would be able to immediately pick out the signs of a shape shifter. "There were just too many discrepancies."

It was all true of course. After coming back from the sewer, Sam had done some research and contacted Zach's lawyer with all the stuff he'd found - other women being attacked by their loved ones, while the accused claimed they were somewhere else, some with unshakable alibis. Sam was sure the man was using it build a case around the theory of a serial killer assuming the identity of people to kill. The strange camera flare that showed up on the video seemed to only lend credence to the idea - the lawyer claimed it could be a reflection on contacts. Plus, all the suspects had had clothing stolen from them in the weeks prior. Add to that the fact that "someone" had tampered with the evidence at the crime scene, the cops would have no choice but to let Zach go, Sam was sure.

Dean nodded, "Guess you were right, Sammy."

Sam just nodded, suddenly feeling guilty about keeping stuff from his brother. As much as he hated seeing Dean like this, he was actually lucky. If Dean hadn't been so out of it, he never would have gotten away with such a weak explanation.

They drove for about a half an hour in silence, Sam had no idea where they were going but didn't feel the need to ask. He was gearing up for a bigger question.

"So… Cleveland… how'd that go?"

Dean glanced at him then back at the road and stayed quiet, it was about another five miles before he answered.

"I lost something," he said, softly. Sam stilled, afraid even the slightest movement would make his brother clam up again. "I thought I had a lead… but I was wrong. It's gone for good."

Finally, maybe they were getting somewhere. So he lost something, must have meant a lot to him to affect him like this.

"Something dad gave you?" Sam guessed, unable to think of anything else that would cause Dean to freak out like this.

Sam watched in confusion as a disturbed look crossed his brother's features. "Dude, no. Just… no."

Sam waited for more, but when it was obvious that Dean wasn't going to say anything else, he decided to poke a little more, "So… it's obviously pretty important to you. You're just giving up? Maybe I could help-"

"We have dad to look for, evil to hunt and people to save, Sam. I've wasted enough time on this… obsession. Just… drop it. Please."

"Dean…"

"Why don't you drive for a while?"

Sam watched Dean for another minute, wanting to press, tired of the games and the back and forth. He just wanted him to be honest and upfront for once. The double standard he held for his brother suddenly reared up and slapped him in the face - he was easily hiding just as much as Dean, if not more.

"…yeah, okay."

Dean pulled over and slid to the passenger seat while Sam got out and walked around - he was already almost asleep, head pillowed by an old shirt up against the window, when Sam got in.

Dean was still sleeping a hundred miles later when Sam heard the faint sound of a tinny Hell's Bells. He'd left the music off, wanting Dean to get some real rest and he looked around in confusion. It had to be Dean's phone, but where the hell was it?

Slowing down, he could hear it better with the lack of wind rushing in his open window. It sounded like it was coming from the trunk…

Dean opened a sleepy questioning eye at him as the Impala's wheels hit the gravel on the side of the highway. Sam just rolled his eyes at his brother and turned off the ignition before climbing out and heading back to the trunk.

And there it was, laying with a couple dusty stakes and a half empty bottle of holy water… Had his brother been hunting vampires during his bender? Oh, was he ever going to get an earful from Sam. Gritting his teeth at Dean's recklessness, he snatched up the phone, answering with an irritated, "Yeah."

There was silence on the other end of the line and Sam tried again, "Hello?"

"…Sam?"

The gruff voice in his ear was one he hadn't heard in a long time, but was achingly familiar just the same.

"Dad?"

There was a scrambling inside the Impala and Sam vaguely noted his brother flinging himself out of the car but his attention was riveted to the phone.

"Good to hear your voice, son."

"Dad," Sam said, trying to shake off his shock. "Where are you? We've been looking all over for you."

"I know, but… it's safer this way, Sammy. Now let me talk to your brother."

Sam's jaw dropped, his excitement and relief giving way to outrage. Did the man think he was still ten? That he could just be brushed aside like that.

"No, dammit. Tell me what the hell is going on dad," Sam demanded as Dean stepped up next to him, his brows pulled down in concern.

"Sam, there's no time-"

"My girlfriend's _dead_. There is definitely time for you tell me if you have any leads on the thing that killed her," Sam hissed out.

"I know about Jessica, and I'm sorry, son. I really am," John said, his voice low and tinged with genuine regret. "But this is… I'm sorry, you can't be a part of it. Right now I need to talk to your bother, Sam."

Sam's teeth grinded in fury, "couldn't be a part of it?" Was he fucking _serious_? And what the hell could he say to Dean that he couldn't say to Sam?

"Dad-"

"NOW goddammit!"

That was the John Winchester tone that Sam remembered best. The sound that echoed in his ears and lent justification to his leaving when he was laying in his bed in Stanford, missing his family. That demand for unquestioning obedience that always rubbed Sam the wrong way.

Grinding his teeth, Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the speaker button then tossed it down into the trunk where it clattered to rest against a shotgun. If Dean could hear it, so could he dammit.

"Dad?" Dean said, making sure to talk loudly enough for their father to hear him, but his eyes remained warily on Sam, as if he was worried his little brother might just explode any minute.

"Dean," John's voice came through loud and clear - hard and slow, like he was reaching for his patience. A sound Sam knew all too well since it had usually been directed at him. "I know what you've been doing, who you've been looking for. I want to you listen well, son. Stay the hell away from Buffy Summers."


	10. Phone Call Interlude Five

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Five**

_Dean was just sliding out from under the Impala when his phone rang. As much as he hated that dad was off researching something on his own, he was grateful for the brief stretch of peace and quiet. Sam and John had been at each others throats even worse than usual these days and playing mediator was driving Dean insane. Even though he was sure Sam hadn't brought up the issue of college to their dad, Dean had no doubt the man knew, or at least had an idea of Sam's plans - although he hadn't come right out and said it either. All the subtle hints and sneering on both sides was enough to make Dean just want to just throw it out in the open. But he didn't. None of them did. But Sam was already halfway through his senior year, it wouldn't be long before they'd all have no choice but to face it. _

_Wiping his hands clean of oil, he pulled the phone from his pocket and frowned at the unknown number on the screen._

"_Yeah," he answered gruffly._

"_My mom's dead."_

_Buffy's flat voice caught him off guard and it took him a moment to catch up with what she'd said._

"…_what?"_

"_She's dead."_

"_Fuck…" He breathed out, leaning back on the Impala in shock. "What happened?" _

"_Came home. She was on the couch. Brain aneurism, they said."_

_His eyes closed as he grimaced. Living on a Hellmouth and a freaking brain aneurism does Joyce in. So there wasn't even anything to blame, to focus that feeling of loss into. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a not. He'd seen what the quest for revenge was doing to his father, making him harder and darker every day, but to be able to do nothing… have no outlet for that pain…_

"_Dammit, Buffy… I'm so sorry. When did it…"_

"_Today. Earlier. Today. Dawn was in school, I had to go tell her."_

_The flat emptiness of her words, the lost way her sentences drifted off, worried Dean._

"_How is Dawn?" He asked feeling bad, he always seemed to forget about Buffy's little sister._

"_She didn't believe me. Snuck back into the morgue to see the b-body."_

_The flat tone gained a tremor and Dean tried to brace himself for the meltdown he knew was coming. He knew her, knew that she'd probably been holding all this in, not giving herself the time to grieve. And Dawn snuck back to see their mom's body? What the fuck? Why did the kid always seem to make things harder than they needed to be?_

"_I-I shouldn't have left. I don't know why I'm calling. Dawn finally fell asleep and I was there and it was quiet and I kept - I kept waiting for her to come in in her robe and- oh God, Dean, I can't do this-"_

_Harsh racking sobs filled the line, and Dean squeezed his eyes against the burn. Not being able to sit still any longer, he started pacing the garage of the old house they were squatting in. _

"_I had to get out of th-that house, but Dawn's there. What if she wakes up and she's alone?" She asked, her voice hysterical at this point. "She shouldn't be alone. Oh god, we're alone. She's gone. Shesgoneshesgoneshesgone-"_

"_Shhhh, Buffy. Shhhh. It'll all be alright," he said, dredging up sounds of comfort he hadn't used since Sammy was small. Listening to her sob… it made him feel like _he_ was the one that lost something, it opened up a hollow feeling in his chest. He stopped pacing to squat down on the floor, as if the act could physically keep him together. _

"_No, no it won't. I can't do this Dean! I can't be mom! She held everything together - held _me_ together. What the hell am I supposed to do now? What? Please… please tell me what to do…"_

_Her voice drifted off into more heart wrenching sobs and Dean clenched his free hand, using the pain of nails digging into flesh to anchor him. He wished he _could _tell her what to do, but the problem was, he had no idea. There was nothing he could say to fix this. Give him some evil sonofabitch to hunt, bones to burn, an exorcism to perform - he'd do any of those things for her and more. But to make this okay? _

Fucking get it together, Winchester_, he told himself viciously. She need him right now, needed him to be strong for her even if he didn't have all the answers. _

"_You _can_ do this. And you will," he said, his voice even and clear even though his mind wasn't. "You'll take care of Dawn and you'll hold it all together because that's the woman Joyce raised. Strong and unbreakable."_

"_I'm not- I can't-"_

"_You are and you can. It seems too heavy now, but having that responsibility will keep you from falling apart. Knowing Dawn needs you. Plus you have Xander and Willow and Giles and Riley. You're not alone, Buffy."_

_She didn't answer for a second, her hitching breaths telling him she was trying to pull herself together. When she spoke again, her voice was still thick with tears, but the emptiness of before had crept back in. More than anything, she just sounded tired._

"_Riley's gone."_

_His brows furrowed - no way could she mean what he thought she meant. "Gone where?"_

"_He left. Months ago."_

_Sonofa- What was it with these idiots?_

"_I'm coming down," he said, already moving toward the door to the house and plotting the way in his head. They were in Oregon right now, and his dad wasn't due back until the end of the week. He could go down for a couple days and be back before his dad returned easy. Sam wouldn't mind and even though Dean didn't like the idea of leaving him alone, he knew from the hastily stashed acceptance letters he'd seen that Sammy would be on his own soon enough anyway. But now wasn't the time to think on that._

"_No."_

_Her flat answer was unexpected and he froze on his way to the door. _

"_Buffy…"_

"_There's no point. She's dead. There's no reason for you to come."_

"_You're there."_

"_No, I'm not. Not really. You want to come here and watch me pretend everything's alright? Try to hold it all together for Dawn?" Her voice was getting shaky and a little wild again. "You want to watch me try not to break down every time I think about her, laying there, all alone-" Her voice broke off with a strangled whimper. _

"_Maybe I do," he said when she'd quieted._

"_Well, I don't," she said softly. "I don't want you here."_

_Dean tried not to be hurt by her statement, knowing she was grieving and she hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but reason didn't stop the sharp pang her words caused._

"_There's already so much, I just can't… They'd all be asking about you… and I don't want you to see me like this…" She said at last, her voice soft and apologetic. _

_He wanted to help, not add to her plate, she had enough to deal with. But…_

"_Okay, but if you change your mind…" He said doubtfully, his gut telling him to get his ass down there anyway. _

"_I know. Thanks… for listening," she hung up before he could say anything else. _

_Dean lay awake that night for a long time, just pulling forward dusty memories of his own mother and forcing himself to remember details he thought he'd forgotten. Which was worse, he wondered, only having your mother for such a short amount of time that it was a struggle to remember her face, or having her be the cornerstone of your life and then ripped away? He decided in the end that it didn't matter. It sucked either way._

_She stayed on his mind the whole next day as he tinkered with the Impala and Sam tried to pretend he was reading War and Peace instead of actually looking through college catalogs. The day crept by and when night rolled around Dean still felt unsettled. _

_The next morning he finally gave up. Grabbing his duffle with a mumbled "Screw it", he started throwing things in it. _

"I don't want you to see me like this…" _Well screw that. She needed him. And screw her friends, too. If they had problems or questions they could deal with him. He knew that Buffy loved them and that they'd been there for her through some tough times, but sometimes he still wondered if they weren't more of a burden than a blessing. _

_Sam threw him a questioning look when he said he'd be back in a few days and looked like he wanted to start an inquisition, but Dean was out the door before he had the chance._

_The sun was setting when he finally arrived in Sunnydale. The normality of the place threw him. He wasn't sure what he'd expected - demons peering out of bushes, pentagrams painted on houses - but he knew he damn sure didn't think of the Hellmouth being a cute little town with people walking their dogs and kids running around playing. _

_Shaking his head at the absolute weirdness in the normality of the place, he pulled his phone out and dialed Buffy's home number._

"_Hello?"_

_Dean immediately knew that the British voice on the other end had to be Giles. It was weird finally hearing the person he'd heard so much about._

"_Uh, yes, this John Pellmeyer, I was an old friend of Joyce's from L.A. I couldn't make it up for the funeral, but was hoping I could speak to her daughter, offer my condolences."_

"_Oh, well, Mr. Pellmeyer. It's, uh, very nice of you to call, but I'm afraid Buffy hasn't returned yet. The funeral was actually today, and well, I'm sure you understand, she needed some time."_

"_Of course, of course. Well, please give her my best. Her mother was a wonderful woman."_

"_Indeed, she was," Giles said quietly. "I'll be sure to pass along the message."_

_Hanging up the phone, Dean wondered where to start. Most likely she'd be at her mother's grave, but he realized with a scowl that he didn't know where that was. Oh well, how many cemeteries could there be in a town this size?_

_An hour and twelve cemeteries later, he was getting seriously pissed about the number of dead people in this town. He was about to give up and call Buffy's house again, he didn't give a crap how suspicious it would sound._

_That's when he saw her. He wasn't even sure how he knew it was her. A lone figure in and otherwise empty graveyard surrounded by the deepening evening twilight, the faintest hint of blond hair. But he knew it was Buffy. Pulling the Impala over to the side of the road, he just watched her for a moment, wondering why his heart was beating faster and his palms were sweating. Grabbing the small bouquet of daisies he'd picked up earlier, he climbed out of the car - suddenly wishing he'd worn something nicer than his faded jeans, grey henley and leather coat. _

_He only made it across the street when he saw the other figure making its way toward Buffy. The stranger wasn't too far from Dean right then, but it was obvious that the man was making a beeline right for the blond Slayer. Tall, dark and- _

"Tall, dark and broody."

_That was the description Buffy'd given him of Angel. Incredibly pale, all in black, long coat - he fit the picture she'd painted of the vampire perfectly. But that couldn't be him… he was in L.A. after all. But Dean's suspicions were proved correct seconds later when he saw the man stop next to Buffy and link his hand in hers. Something in him twisted at the sight and his grip on the flowers tightened. What the hell was _he_ doing there? As if she needed to deal with him right then. Dean had a sudden fierce desire to just walk up and pull her away from the vampire. _

_He blinked, coming back to himself with a jolt. What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe she'd called Angel, asked him to come. She obviously wanted him there or she wouldn't be holding his hand. _

_Did she cry on the phone with Angel like she had with him, a little voice in his head wondered. Had she opened herself up and asked him what she should do? Were his answers better?_

_Why did he care? Dean rolled his eyes at himself and tossed the flowers down at the edge of the cemetery before turning back to the Impala. She was a grown woman, she could be friends with whoever she wanted. What gave Dean the right to act like a jealous boyfriend?_

_That's when it hit him, his hand stilling on the door handle. The worry, wanting to make everything right for her, driving all the way down there, the jealousy at seeing her with Angel… _

_Oh, fuck…_

_Hell no. He was Dean Winchester and he didn't do… crushes, or whatever this was. And this was Buffy, they were friends. That was it. They both needed that from each other, nothing more. Definitely not some new doomed romance or roll in the sack that would ruin what they had. _

_So, determined not to let his libido wreck what was probably the closest friendship he'd ever had, he started the Impala up and headed back to Oregon. Forcing himself not to look back. _


	11. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the short chapter, if I'd stopped where I originally planned then the chapter wouldn't have been ready until Monday at the earliest. I figured you'd rather have a quick shorter chapter than to wait on a longer one. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 6**

"Dean, I know what you've been doing, who you've been looking for. I want to you listen well, son. Stay the hell away from Buffy Summers."

Silence settled in over the dusty roadside - no traffic, no wind, no birds. The inside of Dean's head was much the same as he stared at the phone laying in the trunk, sure that his exhausted mind was playing tricks on him. There was no way dad just-

"What- what was that?"

His voice came out sounding young and bewildered even to himself, normally he would have been mortified, but right now he was far too busy concentrating on the phone to care.

"I know you've been looking for that Slayer, and I'm telling you now, stay away from her."

Even though his dad's hard words were clear as day, he snatched the phone out of the trunk, taking it off speaker and holding it to his ear, not wanting to miss even one word. He could see Sam on the edge of his vision - eyes wide and intent, previous anger forgotten as he looked at his brother like a dog catching sight of a rabbit. But that didn't matter right now.

"What do you-" He floundered, not knowing where to even start. "How did you-"

"I don't have time to explain. She's dangerous, Dean. I don't know how you know her, or why you're looking for her but it doesn't matter. Just stay away from her."

His previous shock wore off, but he was still baffled at the turn of the conversation.

"Dangerous? Of course she's dangerous, she's the freakin' Slayer. She's not dangerous to _me._ She's-"

"Goddammit, Dean. She IS dangerous to you. Stay the fuck away from her. Don't make me repeat myself again."

"Tell what the hell's going on, dad! I'm not going to let this go. I've been looking for her for over a year, if you know something, tell me!"

"She's hunting me, dammit!"

"...she's _what_?" It was so insane that he half laughed the question out.

"I don't have time for this-"

"Then you MAKE time," Dean bellowed, his patience at an end. Some small part of him in the back of his mind was standing with its mouth wide open at the way he'd just spoken to his father, but the rest of him was tired, hung-over, missing his friend, and just plain didn't give a shit anymore.

"Dean-" His father's voice was low and dangerous.

"I've known her for years, dad. On the short list of people I care about, she ranks right up there with you and Sammy. So you tell me what the fuck is going on. …please."

There was a sigh and a sound like the creaking of a chair in the background on John's end.

"I didn't know you were so close… She's gone rogue, Dean. Made a deal with a demon. _The_ demon."

Dean's mouth fell open.

"No. No way, dad. Buffy wouldn't-"

"She would and she did. Apparently she has a vampire lover in hell. To get him out, she made a deal - him for me."

"That's completely ridiculous!" Dean said, throwing his free hand up into the air in exasperation, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind that wondered at the lengths Buffy would go to… but she'd never offer his dad up on a platter, of that he was sure. "Who told you that?"

"The Yellow Eyed Demon."

"…you found it?" He breathed, leaning back against the Impala with wide eyes.

"Yeah, once. Almost got killed by it, too. But it doesn't want me dead, it wants me in Hell. Said it had someone working on it and it hoped I liked dogs before it smoked outta there."

"And you think that someone is Buffy? You're going to believe that-"

"I'm going to believe what the evidence tells me. She's been stalking me for months with a pack of Hellhounds, Dean. Everywhere I've been she's shown up afterwards with those dogs. People have called and warned me."

"How did they know it was-"

"She killed Frank Pilsner," his dad cut him off.

He pushed off the Impala and started pacing. Just when he thought this conversation couldn't get more fucked up…

"She wh- No. That's impossi-"

"Jesse Sinclair _saw_ it, Dean," his father's short amount of patience was almost up, and he continued with the clipped emotionless voice of someone who just wanted to get something over with. "He and Frank saw her in a town I'd been in the month before asking questions about me. Called to warn me. That night Frank got ripped apart by Hellhounds and your little blond Slayer finished him off. Cut his head off with a big red axe. Sound familiar?"

Dean's mind was all over the place as he paced back in forth behind the car, trying to scrape up an explanation. Frank Pilsner and Jesse Sinclair were both good hunters, been doing it just as long, if not longer, than his father. Dean was sorry to hear about Frank, but…

"No. She wouldn't," he said firmly, aware that he was starting to sound like a broken record.

"You think Jesse's lying?"

"Yes - I mean, no - I mean - hell, I don't know!" He said stopping at the trunk again and throwing his free hand out. "I DO know that there's something else going on here."

"What _I_ know is that she's been everywhere I've been and even some places she thought I _might _go to. I know she's been seen with a pack of Hellhounds and killed a friend of mine. I know that Yellow Eyed sonofabitch seems awfully confident that he's getting my ass in hell. I know that a completely random demon I caught in Tulsa confirmed that it was a blond Slayer named Buffy Summers that was after me and why under the threat of exorcism. I also know that she'll use you to get to me if she gets the chance and Sammy too since he's with you. This is serious, Dean. I won't let her hurt you and I won't let her take me. You know what I have to do… so it's best you just steer clear of this, okay?"

Dean's breath was coming in short pants, one hand clenched tightly around the phone, the other on the edge of the trunk. This couldn't be happening. His dad seriously believed this crap? Was he actually saying he was going to _kill_ Buffy?

"Dammit, dad. I don't know what's going on here, but Buffy wouldn't do this. She _wouldn't._ I've followed you, trusted you, without question, for my entire life. I'm asking you, I'm _begging_ you, please don't do this."

"…I'm sorry, Dean."

The call ended and Dean was left with an empty line, wide eyes staring sightlessly at the underside of the trunk lid. The phone slipped from numb fingers, clattering against the weaponry before it stilled.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice didn't register at all as Dean leaned forward into the trunk, breath coming too fast and little spots dancing on the edge of his vision. His hand clenched around the barrel of a sawed off shotgun and his fury and fear exploded out of him as he yanked the gun out and swung it like a bat, slamming against the side of the Impala.

"FUCK!"

Going in for another swing, the shotgun was suddenly plucked from his hands.

"That's not much of a fair fight, dude," Sam's voice was light, but when Dean, chest heaving and jaw clenched, glanced over at him, he saw how his brothers brows were furrowed and the concern in his eyes.

Sighing, Dean turned and slid down the side of the Impala to sit on the ground. He hated this. Hated that his dad wouldn't listen, hated that he lost it and hurt his baby, hated that Sam was seeing him like this, hated his itchy ass beard, hated this silent stretch of highway, and most of all, he hated not knowing what the fuck was going on.

"She wouldn't. Sammy, she wouldn't…"

He didn't know why he said it, but for some reason it felt really important that Sam believe him. The way his dad had blown off Dean's heartfelt claims had hurt, but if Sam did the same thing it would be so much worse. Looking up at his brother, he repeated it, trying to make him understand with just those two words.

"She wouldn't."

Sam looked back at him for a moment before he turned away. Dean's heart sank. Sammy wasn't buying it either. Then he folded his large frame down onto the ground next to Dean, sitting close enough that their bent knees bumped.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Dean asked, looking over.

"You say she wouldn't, then she wouldn't," Sam said with a shrug.

"That's it?" Dean asked in disbelief. "You don't even know what's going on."

"Dad's not really quiet. I heard pretty much everything."

"Oh…" Dean said stupidly, just blinking at Sam and not sure what else to say.

"Seeing as I just got finished helping a friend that didn't do something everyone else said he did, I know better than to jump to conclusions. Dad doesn't work that way, things are just black and white with him."

For once Dean didn't feel the need to defend John. Relief that Sam believed him, no questions asked, was washing over him like a tidal wave. Everything was still fucked, but Sam had his back, and that made everything a little less bleak.

He grimaced as he recalled his own words to Sam when he'd insisted his friend was innocent, _"Maybe you just don't know your friend as well as you thought you did."_

"Sorry I wasn't there. I should of been there to help you with that, man," he said quietly as he looked off down the road, feeling like a crappy person and the world's worst big brother.

"You were looking for her, weren't you? This Buffy girl. You were looking for her in Cleveland? That 'something' that you lost, it was her?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, and she'd kick my ass if she found out I called her a 'something'."

Sam was quiet for a minute, "Did I hear something about a red axe?"

"Yeah, she calls it the Scythe though. Some special Slayer weapon."

"So… Slayers are real and there's a little blond one running around with a big red axe thing? And you've been looking for her?"

There was something weird in Sam's voice and when Dean looked over at him, he was surprised to see guilt on his little brother's face.

"Yeah…"

"I think it's time we had a talk. You need to tell me about Buffy so we can figure out what's going on. And… there's something I need to tell you, too."


	12. Interlude Six One Year Ago

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Interlude Six - One Year Ago**

_The alley was dark and grungy, only lit by the ambient glow from the bustling street beyond. A homeless man dug through the dumpster near the back, his upper body entirely in the container as he searched for anything interesting. He straightened enough to peer over his shoulder as a metallic rattle sounded behind him. The manhole cover nearby gave a slight lurch, giving another sharp clang before it popped a good five feet in the air and landed with a loud clatter next to the hole. _

_A dusty, dirt streaked hand appeared on the edge soon followed by another, pulling up an equally grimy blond girl. She stood next to the hole and ran an ineffective hand over her ruined clothing, trying to get some of the ick off._

"_New York sewers are nothing like Sunnydale sewers," she said to herself with a shiver of revulsion. "Less monsters but more blergh." _

_The homeless man tossed a can he'd found into his pile next to him, still watching her warily. Her green eyes shot up to him and she gave a nervous laugh._

"_This isn't-"_

"_That's mine," the man said, pointing at the dumpster and the pile of things next to it._

"_Uhh, okay..."_

_He nodded and went back to his treasure hunt, assured that she wouldn't be trying to take what was his. _

"_Of course, because it's perfectly normal to see dirty people climbing out of the sewer and talking to themselves around here…," Buffy mumbled, watching the homeless man for a moment before exiting the alley. Even there, in the rushing mill of people, only a few bothered to give her appearance and smell a disgusted look. Ducking her head, she made her way quickly to her motel, looking forward to a shower. She didn't even care if there wasn't any hot water (again). _

_She'd been in New York for almost a month now and had thought she'd been getting a handle on how things worked here - where the vamps hung out the most, the best demon hidey-holes, the lowdown on the under-underbelly of the city. Until tonight anyway. The demon population in the city had skyrocketed overnight and Buffy had no idea why._

_Not for the first time she wished things were like they used to be - wished she could just call up Giles and tell him about this, hear him get all excited in that British way of his over some new weirdness, get Willow and Xander in on some research. But the days of the Scooby Gang were gone. She wondered if they'd ever really gotten back what they'd had before she'd died. Things just never seemed the same after that, but maybe that was just her. _

_Then there was Dawn… God, she still missed her little sister. _

"We're not even _really_ sisters."

_She cringed, remembering those harsh words. She knew Dawn had been angry at the time and she shouldn't hold it against her, but those words had hurt to deeply to just be forgiven and forgotten. _

_Dawn wanted to skip college and stay there and train to be a Watcher. Buffy, in a serious foot-in-mouth moment, had blurted out the phrase "But you don't belong here!" meaning that Dawn didn't have to live like this. She didn't have a destiny being shoved down her throat, she could go out and live a normal life, experience things like college and nonevil boys now that they were off the Hellmouth. But she didn't get a chance to explain any of that. Dawns face went white as soon as the words left Buffy's mouth and yelled that she didn't belong _anywhere_, she was a freak and it was all Buffy's fault, that this was the only place she _did_ belong, even if all she wanted was to get out from under Buffy's shadow and it would be next to impossible there, she didn't have a choice, because where else would a freak like her go? She yelled that Buffy made her life the disaster it was up until now and she should just stay out of it, it was none of her business. They weren't even really sisters, anyway. _

_Buffy had known for a long time that Dawn felt like… less. How hard it was on her to be the Slayer's kid sister. But she'd figured she'd grow out of it, teenage angst and all that. Apparently she'd been wrong. What had started out as childish jealousy had morphed into a strong resentment at some point. _

_When she'd finished, Dawn had looked slightly shocked at the things she'd shouted, but she hadn't looked guilty and she hadn't apologized. The next day the pain was still sharp from their argument, so when the Scoobys laid out their plan that treated the new Slayers more like dangerous weapons that needed to be controlled and aimed instead of people, Buffy's already raw emotions had taken another harsh blow. _

_And that was it. She'd had enough. She was just tired - too tired to add fighting against the people that were supposed to have her back to the already hefty weight of fighting against evil. She didn't need a break, she wasn't running away - she was just _done_._

_After stealing a good chunk of the Council's money and grabbing her Scythe (yes, she did think of it as hers - she was the original in what was now a multitude, she was the one that knew something was there when no one else would back her, she was the one that went in alone and got it - plus it was shiny and she liked it - it was hers, dammit), she took off. _

_Deciding she didn't want to stay in Scotland, where the new Slayer base had been situated, she'd headed into England for a while. Not wanting to be found, she'd visited a magic store she'd heard Giles mention a few times when ordering things for The Magic Box - hoping to find something powerful enough to keep her off even Willow's radar should they decide to look for her. There she'd run into Ethan Rayne of all people, freshly escaped from government custody. When he spotted the things she was looking at, he'd pieced together what had happened in an eerie display of perception and seemed to be absolutely _giddy_ over the fact she'd parted ways from his old pal Ripper. So, in exchange for her not turning him in and not beating him unconscious on sheer principal, he helped her with a sweet shielding spell that kept her hidden from any and all magical means, no matter how powerful they were. And as a bonus, he'd even directed her to his source for fake ID's and passports. She walked away half appreciative to him and half wondering if the spell would turn her into some tentacle-y demon sometime in the future. She was pretty sure her threats were enough to keep him in line, but with Ethan, you never really knew. _

_After poking around England for a few weeks, sightseeing during the day and slaying by night, she got bored and hopped a flight to France. From there she traveled all over Europe and even into part of Asia for a few months. It wasn't until late fall that she'd decided to return to the States. She'd landed at JFK and just decided to stay for a while. She'd liked that there was plenty of slaying to do in the city and the ease in which she could keep her anonymity. _

_The sight of the rundown motel was a welcome one and she had her key out and was in her room with barely a paused step. Flicking the switch next to the door, yellow light filled the space. It was old and falling apart, the carpet threadbare, the wallpaper peeling in the corners, cracks and water stains on the ceiling, but it was fairly clean and it was convenient and, best of all, it was cheap. Her stolen funds had taken a hit with all the flying she'd done recently, so she'd have to be more careful with what she had left if she wanted to make it last. The thought of settling down somewhere and getting a job might have appealed to her before, but she'd recently lost her love for attachments._

_Thinking of attachments and random cheap motels made her think of Dean. She'd thought about calling him a few times, her phone was long gone but she'd dialed his number enough to have it permanently engraved into her brain. But she was afraid her newly gained apathy and independence would go out the window when she saw him. And she _knew_ he'd want to see her after he heard what had happened and that she was alone - he'd want to see that she was okay with his own two eyes. Her heart was still bruised and she was afraid Needy Buffy would make an appearance as soon as she saw him. She didn't want to risk that. Not that she thought Dean would ever do anything to hurt her, but with her long buried feelings for him, it was better to wait until she was more used to being alone. _

_It was better like this, being alone. The only person she could really count on was herself, anyway. At least that's what she kept telling herself when she was hit by a particularly sharp pang of loneliness. _

_Stepping further into the room, she threw her key down on the single rickety table and sat in the wobbly wooden chair beside it to pull her boots off. Other than the table and chair, the only other things in the room were the single lamp, a twin sized bed, her suitcase and the Scythe, leaning against the far wall under a towel. She didn't like leaving it there, but it wasn't like she could just go strutting around the city with it in broad daylight, keeping it hidden when she patrolled at night was hard enough. _

_The chair creaked as she leaned back in it, closing her eyes. She needed to shower and change before heading back out. Normally, she'd take a nap, maybe do some laundry first. But with the sudden rise in the Evil Threat Meter, she needed to get back out there as soon as she could. With a groan and a pout, she pulled herself up and headed into the bathroom._

_An hour later, she'd already staked three vamps and beheaded some kind of lizard demon when a scuffle in the alley to her right drew her attention. She stalked toward the commotion, pulling the Scythe from under her long coat that kept it at least somewhat hidden from all the people still out on the streets. _

_As she drew nearer to noise and further into the alley, she distinctly heard a "No, wait! Please!" followed by a wet kind of growl. That would be her cue, kinda like the Slayer Bat Signal. Breaking into a run, she spotted two figures - one on the ground with a defensive hand raised and the other advancing in a menacing crouch. _

"_Hey, how about you play with me instead? I promise I'm more fun," she purred, channeling Faith for the hell of it._

_The thing whirled on her faster than she expected and she got a glimpse of slimy red skin and big horns before a sharp-tipped claw was coming at her face. Dropping low, she felt her hair shift where its nails sliced the air less than an inch from her head. Swinging the Scythe up she took its arm off with one clean blow, then spun around and buried it in the things chest. It gave a weak gurgle before collapsing._

"_Buffy! You've got great timing, girl."_

_Turning in surprise at being addressed by name, Buffy was shocked to see the "person" she'd rescued was actually Clem._

"_Wow, didn't expect to see you here," she said, giving what was these days a rare smile and offering him a hand up. _

"_Glad to see you made it," Clem said, smiling back with sharp teeth and brushing himself off. "When I saw the crater on the news, I wondered…"_

_The smile melting off her face, she shook her head, "Spike and Anya… they didn't…"_

"_Oh," he said, looking down and shuffling his feet. "Sorry to hear that."_

_Buffy nodded, that last image of Spike flashing behind her eyes._

"_So, New York, huh?" Buffy asked. "Didn't peg you for the big city kinda demon."_

_Seemingly as glad to be getting off the topic of Spike and Anya as Buffy was, Clem looked up and shook his head, skin wobbling in a hypnotizing display. "Oh, I'm not. I found a real nice place up in Massachusetts. Lots of other demons like me that aren't really into the death and destruction thing."_

"_That sounds… nice," Buffy said with a small smile, picturing a bunch of demons sitting around watching Passions, playing kitten poker and dominos. Like a retirement home for evil. "So, in New York for a little sightseeing?"_

_Clem's already pale features bleached further and he shook his head, his eyes suddenly darting about warily. "No… Something… something bad was coming. We had to get out of there."_

_Buffy cocked her head, "Something bad, like what? And what do you mean, 'we'? All your friends took off with you?"_

"_I think just about every demon in the state took off," Clem said, still looking anxious. "When the signs started showing up a few days ago, everyone just scattered. New York's a good place for demons to hide on short notice, so I think most of us ended up here. I got turned around, though. Stumbled into a Draxel demon's territory." Glancing back at the demon on the ground he gave a little shudder. "Thanks for the help, by the way."_

_Well, that answered her question on the sudden increase in the demon population, but he still hadn't answered her question on what exactly chased them off._

"_What kinda signs? And signs of what?"_

_He looked around warily. "Signs… electrical storms, crazy weather, dead cows… Someone big from downstairs is about to show up there."_

"_Downstairs? You mean Hell?" Clem nodded again, wringing his hands now - a fascinating sight on someone with that much loose skin. Buffy peeled her eyes away and continued. "So some big wig from Hell is about to make an appearance in Massachusetts? What for?"_

_Clem looked at her as if she were crazy. "How would I know? We're not talking some left over, bred down old one, like most of us demons. This is someone strong enough to come and go from Hell as it pleases, that means it was granted permission to come here."_

_Buffy hated talking about Hell, it had more layers than an onion and made her head spin. "Permission from who?" She asked, her patience running out._

_Clem's eyes widened, and he looked around before leaning in and whispering, "From Lucifer of course."_

_Buffy blinked at him, "There's really a Lucifer? Like the ex-angel kinda Lucifer?" and Clem blinked back with a "Yeah. Duh." look on his face. _

"_Hmm, who'da thunk. I knew there were all kinds of Hells, but… there's actually one with _the _Satan?" Buffy asked again, unable to wrap her mind around it._

_Clem shrugged, "Sure, there are different Hells, different dimensions, even different levels in each one. But _that_ Hell is the main one, all the others are connected through it. They only have access to this world because Lucifer allows it. He's chained somewhere down deep and pretty much gives the other Hell dimensions free reign. Living vicariously, I guess."_

"_How could I have never heard about this," she wondered out loud, pouting slightly. "I'm the freakin' Slayer, this should be need-to-know info."_

"_Probably because no one really talks about it. Lucifer's almost like a myth to most demons. Plus, not much comes out of that Hell, so not really much for a Slayer to slay. It's pretty much all about taking in human souls."_

_Buffy shuddered at the offhanded way Clem talked about people going to Hell, but shook off her unease and continued. "Okay, so one of Luci's lackeys is planning a day trip to Mass. Sound's like something I should check out… Where were most of the signs showing up? What part of the state?"_

_It took a while, but she finally got the information out of Clem that she needed. He seemed really sure that this was something Buffy didn't want to step in. But she'd fought the self-proclaimed First Evil. What could compete with that? Curious, but not really worried, she spent the rest of the night cutting down the inflated demon population before heading back to her motel at first light. _

_After packing up and checking out, she headed for the bus station. Greenfield was the best guess Clem could give for the center of the signs, so that's where Buffy went. The trip to wasn't that long, only about four hours, and she spent most of it sleeping. They arrived around midday and Buffy found a cheap hotel just down the street from the station. After dropping her things off, she decided she'd spend the rest of the day scouting the area, keeping her eyes peeled for weirdness and her Spidey Senses on high alert. _

_The town was quiet and pretty, the last of the fall leaves clinging to abundant trees and fresh clean air that felt amazing after spending so much time in the city (and in the sewers). It wasn't very big and it felt tiny after the weeks in New York. After finding her way around there, this was cake. She'd been all over by the time dinner rolled around, and had also drawn a lot of curious looks and tourist advice from the overly friendly residents. She'd gotten used to being part of the background, unnoticed and unbothered. But part of her admitted that it felt nice to smile (even if it was fake most of the time) and talk to the people again. One good thing that came of it was that she heard all about the weird weather and electrical storms that had been happening. None of them mentioned the cattle mutilations going on just outside of town though, too ugly for everyday conversation she guessed. But a quick trip to the local library and a peek through the last newspaper told her all she needed to know. _

_The sky was darkening an ominous gray when she arrived at the diner down from her motel to grab a bite for dinner. The patrons inside tossed her a curious glance but were mostly too busy eyeing the sky outside the large front windows to pay her much attention. The lightning started when she had almost finished her cheeseburger. Huge purplish streaks arcing across the sky, illuminating the thick rolling clouds. Deciding that it was probably time to go, Buffy put down the rest of her burger and asked for the bill. Her waitress, an elderly lady named Phyllis, fretted over Buffy getting back to her hotel safely and insisted that one of the cooks could driver her if she waited a few minutes. _

_The concern surprised and touched her, it had been a while since anyone had cared about what she was doing. The lump in her throat told her it was something she'd missed. Thanking Phyllis and assuring her she'd be fine, her hotel was just down the street, Buffy stepped out into the night. Her Spidey Senses immediately went nuts and she had to stop herself from dropping into a defensive crouch right there on the sidewalk. There was no source for it, the evil that she felt seemed to be infused in the very air, wrapping around her with each harsh gust of wind and exploding with fury at every strike of lightning. _

_For the first time, she wondered what exactly it was that she was getting into. _

_Fifteen minutes later, she was sneaking out the back of the hotel, Scythe in hand. She wasn't really sure where she was going, but her instincts screamed out that _something_ was happening tonight, that she needed to be out there. The wind and lightning kept up its furious assault as she wandered from street to street, keeping to the shadows as she searched for anything out of the ordinary. _

_A flicker of the streetlights was the only warning she got before a burst of fire roared out of the windows on the upper floor of the house right next to her. She spun, eyes wide at the unexpected sight. Demons, vampires, pretty much anything that goes bump in the night, she'd been ready for. Fire? Not so much. She was a slayer, not a firefighter, this _so_ wasn't her gig. But when she heard yelling from inside, she ran for the door anyway. _

_Kicking it open, she took a split second to get oriented and saw the stairs on her left, she took them two at a time and hit the upstairs hallway at a run. There, on the floor at the end, was a man in pajamas and a robe, his head was bleeding and he was trying to push himself up using the wall behind him. _

"_Karen!" He yelled, looking through the doorway in front of him with wide eyes. _

_Buffy was next to him in a heartbeat. The fire filled the frame, blocking the view inside the room. _

"_Who's in there?" Buffy asked, having to yell to be heard over the roar of the flames._

"_My wife and baby," the man said, his face pale as he struggled to get to his feet again. It was then she noticed the cracked drywall and broken picture behind him, as if he'd been bodily thrown from the room. Looking suspiciously back at the flaming doorway, she realized she could occasionally see into the room beyond it as the fire shifted. All she could make out was a figure on the other side and that the fire didn't seem to have filled the room. Yet anyway, she needed to work fast. _

"_Stay here, I'll get them," she told him before taking a running leap through the flames. _

_Expecting smoke, fire, a woman and a baby on the other side, Buffy froze at the unexpected scene in front of her. A man in a long black coat was standing, back to her, over a crib, she could hear the baby crying now that she was in the room._

"_Wow, you just take cradle robbing to a whole new level of creepy, don't you?" She blurted out. Whenever in doubt, quip. _

_Turning slowly, everything halted when yellow eyes met her own. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes shot to the ceiling. Fire rolled above her, thick and bright. And there, in the center, was a woman. _Karen_, her mind provided numbly, remembering the man's shouts. Face frozen in a look of pain and horror, she blistered and charred above them. _

"It pinned her to the ceiling of Sammy's nursery. Cut her open and set her on fire, like she was nothing... All we know is it was a demon. A demon with yellow eyes."

_Dean's words echoed loudly in her mind and her eyes shot back to the "man" in front of her. _

"_You…" She breathed. There it was, the demon that had killed Dean's mother, set his father on the path of revenge and had changed his family from happy and normal to what it was now. _This_ was the demon responsible for all his pain. Her hand tightened around the Scythe in fury. _

_It cocked its head and smirked, looking half irritated and half amused. It opened its mouth to speak, but she never gave it the chance. She lunged, Scythe humming as it cut through the air. The demon threw its hand out and a force slammed into her, halting her progress and trying to push her backwards. The Scythe, though still now, still hummed as she pressed back against it. The demons yellow eyes widened as she managed to press forward a step, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed. With a final burst of effort she was free from the invisible restraint and was diving at it again. It was already on the move though, stopping by the window and opening its mouth, a foul, thick smoke burst from its mouth and into the open air. _

"_Oh no you don't," Buffy growled, swinging the Scythe in a last ditch attempt to slice and dice it. She missed by mere millimeters but it seemed it was too close to comfort for the demon, who's smoky essence gave an unearthly shriek as the part where the Scythe had passed closely seemed to turn to ash and crumble away. But it barely slowed it down and it was already disappearing into the night sky. She perched on the window, ready to jump out into the night after it, but the shill cry of the baby behind her stopped her in her tracks. _

_Turning back to the burning room, she could see that the man who'd been possessed was already dead, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling where an equally dead Karen was still pinned in the blaze. Darting back to the crib, she bundled the baby up in all its blankets and tucked it close to her body before jumping back through the flaming doorway into the hallway. The dazed father immediately took the child from her, holding it close and kissing the top of its head. _

"_Karen," he said, wide eyes shooting up to Buffy's. "What about Karen?"_

_Buffy shook her head at him and his face collapsed in grief. He would have fallen to his knees right there in the smoke filled hall had Buffy not grabbed onto him and half led, half dragged him out of the burning home. _

_The air outside was blessedly cool and clean, a soft breeze taking the place of the harsh gusts of earlier. The clouds had thinned and the lightning had stopped, sirens wailed in the distance. For Greenfield, the danger had passed._

_But Buffy wasn't letting things go so easily, her eyes looking toward where she'd last seen the demonic smoke heading. Leaving the grieving husband on the lawn with his motherless child, she hurried back to her hotel and packed her things._

_Stepping back out into the night, her smoke smelling clothes clinging to her and blond hair falling from its ponytail, she faced east. She could still feel it, the concentrated evil that the thing had given off. Her Scythe hummed at her side, like it sensed the same thing and was eager for another shot at it. _

_And another shot it would get. Because there was no way she was letting it get away so easily. _


	13. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Seven**

"So, uh," Sam swallowed heavily as he looked away from Dean, this really wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. "We should go back to St. Louis."

Pulling himself to his feet, he avoided his brothers gaze - instead moving behind the Impala and snagging Dean's phone before shutting the trunk. When he realized Dean was still seated on the ground, he glanced down to see him staring at him, his face clearly asking "what the hell?".

"Go back? Dude, that's like two hours behind us. You wanna have care and share time in a tea shop or something?"

"No… Well…the thing is... I think I saw Buffy about 24 hours ago," Sam blurted, not wanting to look at his brother but not able to tear his eyes away. His bewilderment was slowly melting into shock and Sam knew it wouldn't be long before realization came, followed by anger. "She's probably not there anymore, but maybe we can find her trail-"

"Wait, wait," Dean said, shaking his head as he stood. "What do you mean you think you saw Buffy?"

"I mean that I saw a short blond girl with a big red axe thing chopping off monster heads in the sewer."

"In the sewer, what were you doing-" There it was, the dawning comprehension. "It _was_ a hunt. You stupid sonofa_bitch_…"

Dean took two furious steps toward him and Sam braced himself for the punch, but just when Dean looked like he was going snap and lay Sam out, he turned and started pacing.

"Tell me everything," he said, then paused. "And get in the damn car, we're going back."

Dean yanked the driver's side door open with more force than necessary and slid in, Sam rushing after him as the Impala roared to life. He'd barley gotten the door closed when Dean floored it, sending gravel and dust flying as he whipped the car around and aimed it back the way they'd just come from.

"Talk," Dean said flatly after a moment of silence.

"Well, like I told you, I didn't think Zach could do something like kill his girlfriend, so I started digging around. Becky had a tape from a security camera that supposedly showed Zach going into his house just before the murder, but Becky swore he was with her. There was something weird with his eyes on the tape, like this shine when the light hit him. Then, yesterday morning, almost the exact same thing happened. Another woman saying her boyfriend attacked her when he claimed he'd been somewhere else."

"Shape shifter," Dean growled out. "God_dammit_, Sam. Why the fuck didn't you call me?"

"I wasn't sure, I didn't have any proof, and it seemed like you had… other things to take care of," Sam said, truthfully and maybe with a dash of manipulativeness to keep his brother from exploding and beating him senseless.

Dean shook his head angrily but just said, "Then what happened?"

"I found a trail leading out the back of both the houses the attacks happened in. The cops never noticed-"

"Because they didn't think the killer left," Dean finished. Sam nodded with a small smile - Dean was far more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, he really was an amazing hunter. He wouldn't have sat on the ground wondering if shape shifters could fly, Sam thought with an internal grimace of embarrassment, deciding to definitely leave out that part of the story.

"And you followed it. Jesus Christ, you're an idiot," Dean growled under his breath, erasing Sam's burst of brotherly affection. Dean's hands flexed on the steering wheel like he was trying to refrain from hitting him. Apparently his self control was on the low side at the moment because his arm shot out suddenly and punched Sam in the arm. Then he waved his hand and looked annoyed, "Well, get on with it. Story time's not finished yet."

Sam rubbed his now numb and tingly arm as he gave Dean a wounded look. "I just wanted to see if I could pick up the trail down there. If I found its lair, I was gonna call you," he said, trying to sound reasonable but coming across as petulant instead.

Dean shot him a look that clearly said _Really, Sammy? Really? _and Sam just looked away, not really wanting to get into whether he really would have called his brother or not. Realizing this conversation was actually going better than he'd hoped (if he got out of this with only a bruise on his arm, he'd be lucky) and wanting to keep it that way, Sam decided just to sort of… skim the next events.

"I, uh, kinda got caught off guard. The shape shifter came up behind me…" He saw Dean shoot him an alarmed and angry look and went on quickly. "But this girl showed up outta nowhere, dropped out of the freakin' ceiling and just chopped its head off ."

Sam felt a little guilty blatantly skipping part of the story like that, but, hey, self preservation.

"Describe her," Dean said, his brows furrowed as he glared through the windshield like he could set the pavement on fire with his eyes.

"Small, about 5'3", 5'4", long blond hair, green eyes, giant red axe," Sam rattled off, relaxing into the seat a little more now that he'd gotten past the "I got caught" part of his story.

"How'd she look?"

Dean's voice was soft and his attention was still on the road. Sam turned his palms up at him, "Dude, I just-"

"No, Sam. _How'd_ she _look_?"

"Oh," Sam said, realizing his brother wanted more than a physical description. He hesitated, unsure if he should really give Dean his honest opinion. But he'd see for himself if they caught up to her, so Sam went with the truth (the unedited version this time). "Well, she looked tired. And maybe a little to thin. Actually, man… she kinda freaked me out."

Dean had tensed at the "tired and thin" part, shoulder muscles tightening and bunching as he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. But when Sam said that she freaked him out, Dean blinked and looked over at him in confusion.

"Freaked you out? Because of the decapitating? Dude, she saved your ass," he said with an underlying hint of defensiveness.

"Not from the decapitation, it was just… her eyes," Sam said reluctantly. It sounded over dramatic even in his own head, he didn't really want to throw it out there for Dean to pick at. But he sighed, looked out the windshield, braced himself and said it anyway, "They looked empty."

When no mocking came from the driver side, Sam glanced back at over at his brother to see that he regained his intense starting at the road and his stiff posture.

"She say anything?"

"She bitched about her clothes getting dirty," Sam said, feeling a bit of relief as a smile flashed across Dean's face.

"Anything else?"

"Uh, yeah, she asked if I was the only hunter in town and then started to ask if I knew a certain hunter, but she stopped like she heard something before she finished. Now that I think about it, could've started with a 'W'."

"Like Winchester."

"Could be. Maybe she was looking for you?"

"Nah, Buffy knows my number as well as I know hers. She could've called me at anytime," Dean said, voice and face remaining annoyingly blank. "That it?"

Sam opened his mouth to point out that since she wasn't looking for Dean, it stood to reason she really was looking for John, but luckily he caught himself before the words came out. Dean would already know that and obviously didn't want to discuss it further.

"Yeah, that's it. She ran off down a side tunnel and I went after her but when I got there she was gone…" Suddenly the memory of those moments standing there trying to figure out which way she went slammed back in place and his face paled. He looked over at Dean to find him watching him closely.

"What, Sam?"

"I just - I remember I thought I heard a dog howling…"

There was a flash of uncertainty in Dean's eyes before they were once again looking ahead of the Impala, his mouth twisted down into a tight frown.

"It just doesn't make any sense. It all fits with what dad said, but I know she wouldn't just trade up anyones life. Well, except maybe her own. And if she was looking for dad, why didn't she just call me? Ask where he was?"

"Maybe she's possessed?"

"Could be I guess…" Dean reluctantly agreed. "I don't even know if Slayers _can_ be possessed. Plus, why would she kill the shape shifter but leave you alive if a demon was in the driver's seat? Nothing makes any damn sense."

Dean pounded a hand against the steering wheel in frustration. The car filled with silence as they both mulled over what could be going on. The scenery whipped by at frightening speed, but Sam didn't comment.

"What about the vampire lover bit?" He finally asked curiously. "I mean, Slayer - Vampire? That part can't be true, right?"

"Actually, she's had two," Dean said, his eyes sliding to Sam, as if daring him to say something about it, pass some kind of judgment. Sam also noted that although Dean didn't seem to want Sam saying anything negative, he himself looked and sounded less than thrilled with the fact.

"They were '_good'_ vampires though," Dean said, confusing Sam by giving an explanation but tinting it with sarcasm.

"Good vampires? What's that mean?"

"Didn't eat people, fought for the good guys," Dean said, sounding like he hated admitting it.

"Wow, that's… really freakin' weird," Sam said, trying to wrap his head around it. "That could be handy though - having someone with super strength and speed on your side, not to mention the fact they're so hard to kill."

"You would be laying out the pros and cons in that freaky head of yours," Dean mumbled.

"And she… and them…"

With an aggravated sigh, Dean answered tersely, "Yes, Sam. She fell in love with one of them in high school, and he proceeded to break her heart over and over. And the other one…"

Something dark flashed across Dean's face and the steering wheel actually creaked under the pressure he was putting on it. Realizing he'd wandered into dangerous territory, Sam shifted topics quickly.

"So Slayers are real then? One girl in all the world with the strength and skill to stand against the demons, the vampires and the forces of darkness? That Slayer?"

Dean blinked and looked at Sam with a raised brow, "Dude, you memorized that? Even though you didn't even think they were real? You're such a _geek_…"

"What? It was interesting!" Sam said, both defensive and pleased he's sidetracked his brother from his anger.

Then Dean got a thoughtful look Sam didn't like at all, a wicked smirk appearing on his face.

"Fantasy material. Am I right? Hot chicks kicking ass…" The smirk melted off his face as quick as it had appeared. "No fantasies about Buffy, man. I'll kick your ass."

The epiphany came to Sam then. He'd been operating on the assumption that this was just a friend of his, maybe some random girl he'd met on a hunt years ago. But now the pieces slid together - the obsessive searching, standing up to dad, stressing over her welfare, the aggravation when talking about her former lovers, and just now, the underlying hint of jealousy…

"Holy shit… you're in love with her…"

"No," the answer came fast - too fast. Dean was shaking his head vehemently. "It's not - We're not like that, dude. We're just really good friends. Known each other a long time."

He wasn't fooled at all, his brother was obviously trying to convince himself, not Sam. Oh, this was going to be _fun_, he thought, brutally fighting back a grin.

_Unless she really is trying to kill dad, or is possessed, or dad kills her,_ a dark little voice whispered in the back of his mind, wiping away the urge to smile.

"So that's what you've really been doing this whole time?" Sam asked, both to relieve his brother of the awkwardness and to chase away his own pessimistic thoughts. "When you'd disappear? You were looking for her?"

"Yep," Dean asked, relaxing a little more in his seat and flicking the music on, but leaving the volume low.

"The time in Blackwater Ridge?"

"Former Watcher lived nearby. Disappeared."

"Wisconsin?"

"Lame psychic."

"The plane deal in Pennsylvania?"

"Someone that used to live in her hometown."

"Cleveland?"

"Hellmouth and another Slayer."

"Hellmouth? Another-"

"Long story."

"Wait, didn't you say it was 'done' this morning?" Sam wondered aloud. "Were you giving up?"

Dean's jaw tightened, "I wasn't finding anything new to go on. We have enough on our plate, Sammy. And seeing as you could have been killed while I was off chasing after her, I think I made the right choice. If it weren't for her being mixed up with dad somehow, I'd be sticking to it."

The fact that Dean had been ready to give up the search because of him made a knot form in Sam's stomach. But he seriously doubted that his brother's conviction would have lasted long. His brothers condition was proof of how tough that decision had been on him. Sam snickered internally that John's call to warn Dean away from Buffy had actually restarted the search.

"What about before that? Before dad went missing? You were looking for her then too?"

Dean grimaced slightly, "Yeah, then, too. It's kinda why we started splitting up. Doing separate jobs."

"Its not your fault he ran off, Dean," Sam said, hearing his brother's guilt and cursing their father again. "He would have left when he wanted to whether you were there or not."

"I know, I just wish I hadn't made it so easy on him."

"So you were actually running around the country looking for her?"

"I was doing jobs, too," Dean said defensively. "Just kinda asking questions on the side."

"The hoodoo gig in New Orleans was you looking for her wasn't it? That's why you felt so guilty about him going missing?"

Dean's subtle change in posture was all the answer Sam needed - the slight cringe, the rounding of his shoulders.

"I should have never went there…" Dean said quietly.

"Dude, I already said it - Dad would've run-"

"I know, I know. It was just so fucked up. I screwed the pooch on that job big time."

Curiosity piqued, Sam pressed, "Why? What happened?"

"This priest was making money off people, bringing back dead loved ones."

"Zombies," Sam guessed.

"Yahtzee. He was bringing back just enough of them to satisfy the customer, until, you know, they went all hell crazed and tried to eat their faces off."

"Yeah, I'd say that would call for a refund."

"Well, instead of giving them their money back, he'd charge them even more to get rid of the thing."

"A hoodoo entrepreneur. Nice."

"And, well, since no one had really gotten hurt yet, just gotten the piss scared out of them, and I was thinking… you know… maybe she was dead…"

Sam's jaw dropped, "Tell me you did _not_ put in an order for a zombie slayer, Dean."

"No! Dude, no," Dean said, looking horrified at the idea. "I wouldn't do that to her. Pull her out of where ever she was… that's…"

His brother swallowed hard and Sam had the feeling there was a story there, but the look on his brother's face warned him away from digging,

"Since he was able to pull enough of the people out of the ether to stick in a body, I figured he could at least tell me if she was over there. So, we made an agreement, he'd stop with the Zombies R Us routine and see if he could find her in the afterlife, in exchange, I wouldn't blow him away," Dean said with a shrug, like it was perfectly reasonable to get a hoodoo priest to find out if your friend was dead.

"So, what happened?"

"There was all kinds of smoke and chanting and weird animal parts. He went into some kind of trance, then he said I had to go with him, grabbed my arm and that's all I remember."

"What?" Sam asked, alarmed.

Dean shrugged again, "Must've been something in the smoke, man. He dosed me. I had some wicked crazy dreams and woke up the next day in an alley just outside of the French Quarter."

"What kind of dreams?" Sam asked, leaning forward.

"The fucked up kind," Dean said with a shudder. "Anyway, went back and he was gone. And if you ever tell dad about any of this, I'll tell him I caught you wearing Lisa Cosgrove's underwear in 9th grade."

"What?" Sam said, outraged. "That never happened, Dean!"

"Yeah, but he'll always wonder."

Sam scowled at his brother, "I wasn't going to say anything anyway."

"You say that now, but next time I put Nair in your shampoo it'll be all whining bitchfaced Sammy 'I'm telling dad about the hoodoo screw up!'."

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but then it occurred to him what Dean was doing. The King of Deflection was at work again.

"How'd you meet her?" He said instead, not ready to let up yet.

Dean didn't reply for a moment and Sam figured he was trying to find another way around talking but finally he just sighed and gave in. "Remember when we were in L.A., you were a freshman?"

Sam nodded immediately, remembering the rough crowded high school with a slight grimace. Then he started, "_That's_ when you met her? You really have known her for a while."

Dean just nodded, Sam couldn't tell what it was that was making him reluctant to talk, but he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"And you've kept in touch?"

"Yeah, we talked a handful of times a year since then."

Sam blinked in astonishment. While, for most, talking to someone just a few times a year might mean you really aren't that close, for Dean this was a lot. Other than Sam and their dad there wasn't anyone Dean kept in touch with. Maybe Bobby or Caleb or Pastor Jim, but that was always about a hunt. Suddenly it hit Sam how lonely that must have been. Although it never lasted and hadn't really worked out, Sam had at least tried to make friends at the schools he'd gone to. Dean hadn't really been into that, unless they were of the female variety of course. Then, in Stanford, he'd had a ton of great friends, ones he still kept in touch with via e-mail even now. He felt a surge of gratefulness to this Buffy Summers for being the friend Dean apparently had been missing. Not a family member, not a fellow hunter, someone he could just be Dean with. No wonder he loved her…

"Oh, for fucks sake. Knock that weepy faced shit off," Dean snapped at him, bringing him back and making him realize that he'd been staring at his brother - probably with some sappy look on his face.

"What's she like?" He asked, both to distract Dean and because he was genuinely curious.

"Well… she's like a blond ball of freaking contradictions, man. Cute and girly, but kicks more ass than anyone I know. She can whine about her hair one second and in the next breath tell you ten ways to ambush a vamp nest," Dean said with fond smile. The tension leaked out of him as he went on and he leaned back, resting an arm next to the window. "She can babble like a crazy person on a good day, and it's even worse when she's nervous. She's hell on schools and gets grumpy if you pick on her for liking ice skating. She thinks red makes her look fat and has a favorite stake named Mr. Pointy. She's saved the world over and over, the people that are supposed to love her always shit on her and she lives with the fucking weight of the world on her shoulders, but she never breaks or backs down." His voice tapered off, leaving Sam speechless in its wake. A deep sadness tinted Deans features, erasing the affectionate smirk of moments before. His eyes ticked over at Sam and his mask slipped back in place - a smirk tugging up a heavily stubbled cheek. "Hey, you see that sinkhole in California that swallowed that whole town?"

Lost for a second at the topic change, Sam just nodded as the vague memory came to him. Some place called Sunny Vale or something.

"She did that, dude," Dean said. The proud parent tone made Sam want to laugh until it registered what exactly his brother had said.

"She what?"

"That was a Hellmouth, she laid out some majorly ancient evil there and took the whole town out."

"Holy shit…"

"There weren't any people there," Dean hurried to assure him

Sam fought a grin at how Dean didn't seem to want him to think badly of Buffy. After he'd had a shower, shaved and gotten some sleep, Sam was going to have fun teasing him about this. But right now he just looked too worn down and desperate for Sam to really get any enjoyment out of it. Instead, he stepped into Dean's shoes for the moment, playing the role of the confident brother that was sure everything would work out fine, even if he had to force it to himself.

"We're gonna find her, man. And we'll find out what's going on."

"Yeah, I know…"

"So tell me about the Hellmouth," Sam demanded, his researchers brain going nuts wanting to hear about the phenomenon that he'd only heard mentioned a few times in the rarest tomes.

The rest of the trip back to St. Louis was spent with Sam playing twenty questions (or more like a hundred and twenty) and Dean answering what he could while also complaining about how he didn't want to contribute to the geekiness of his little brother.

Arriving back in the city, the first thing Dean demanded to see was the lair that Sam had seen Buffy in. Sam pulled a face, the last thing he wanted to do was go back into that sewer, but seeing the determined look his brother was giving him, he gave in and rattled off the directions.

Sam didn't see the huge mammoth problem with this plan until their feet hit the slimy tunnel floor underground.

"Okay, which way," Dean asked, the tone of his voice revealing that he wasn't breathing through his nose.

Sam led the way to the right, his mind whirling on a much more important concern than the smell. He didn't _know_ where the lair was. He'd been knocked out and dragged the rest of the way. He stopped at the last place he remembered and looked around, hoping for some kind of clue as to which way he should go.

"What's the hold up?" Dean asked coming up next to him and looking around.

"Well… it was dark and there were a lot of tunnels, I'm not really sure…"

"It knocked your ass out cold right here, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, feeling all of five years old again as he dropped his gaze to the ground and shuffled his feet.

"You're never hunting alone again," Dean muttered as he walked by and smacked Sam on the back of his head. "Ever."

Sam regretted opening his mouth when they came across the first pile of discarded skin not 25 feet from where he'd stopped, if he'd just kept his mouth shut he probably could have found the lair anyway…

Going around a bend in the tunnel and past another pile of skin, they ended up in the mechanical room that had served as the shape shifters lair. Sam slid over in front of the place where he'd been tied and discreetly kicked the cut ropes into the shadows while Dean wandered around the space.

"She dropped from there," Sam said, pointing to the hole above where Dean was standing.

Moving next to his brother, they both looking up at the narrow drainage pipe. It was obvious neither of them was fitting up there.

"We need to see where that goes," Dean said, now looking down at the ground, his eyes searching like he'd see some kind of sign she'd been there.

"City planning commission should have the layout," Sam offered.

Dean nodded and stood there for a second longer, as if soaking in the fact that the object of his search had been standing in that very spot the day before.

On their way out, Sam showed Dean where he'd lost track of her and they wandered down each of the tunnels a little further, but found nothing. Back in the light of day and at the Impala, Sam changed shirts and used a nearby neighbors hose to clean off his boots while Dean watched in bemusement.

Catching his brother's look, Sam shrugged, "I'm not going in there to get those maps smelling like… well, you."

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam smirked as they climbed back into the car and headed downtown. Half an hour later found them parked in an alley with a map of the sewer laid out on the trunk lid and a corresponding map of the city pulled up on the laptop.

"Most of that pipe seems to run through residential areas. It'd be hard for her to get down there with a weapon like that unnoticed."

"Nobody noticed you climbing down there, Gigantor," Dean pointed out.

"True, I suppose it's possible. But I'm guessing she'd be more likely to take precautions against being seen carrying that thing. Here," Sam said pointing at the map. "This access point runs right behind a motel nearby. Much less chance of getting seen going in from there. Could be worth checking out."

The drive to the motel was short and they parked near the entrance to the sewer where she would have gotten in if this was her starting point. The dried blood smeared across one side suggested they'd picked the right spot.

"Should check at reception, maybe she's staying here," Sam offered, pulling Dean out of the trance the sight of the blood seemed to put him in.

Dean eyed the place skeptically and Sam couldn't blame him, it was rundown even by their standards. Peeling ancient green stucco and a few cracked windows, gutters listing heavily and roof shingles hanging in some places - it wasn't exactly the kind of place you'd think of a young pretty blond staying by herself.

"Fine. We should be Feds," Dean said reaching into the Impala and digging through the stack of ID's, tossing one to Sam.

"Dude, you're not going in there. No one's going to believe you're a Fed - you look like the freakin' Unabomber and smell like a port-a-potty distillery."

Dean plucked at his shirt and smelled it, then nodded in concession - not looking abashed in the slightest, just agreeing.

"Just don't miss anything. If she was here, make sure you ask when she checked in. And what room."

"I know, Dean," Sam said sliding an ID into his pocket and walking away. He'd only made it a few steps when a hand snagged his coat sleeve.

"And if she was driving a car, what it was," Dean added.

"Dude, I know. Chill out, I got this."

Shaking free from his brothers grip, Sam made his way toward the office. He doubted she was still here, and judging from his brother's use of the past tense, he wasn't optimistic either. He did hope they at least found something to go on, for Dean's sake. Sam, for his part, didn't mind looking for her, but because of more than just Dean's desire to find her. Even if she hadn't made a deal with the demon, it was obvious to Sam that she really was looking for their father. If they kept searching for her, she'd in turn lead them to John. And on the other side of the coin, if they found John first, it stood to reason she wouldn't be far behind. In Sam's mind, that doubled his chances of getting some answers, so he was all for it. The fact Dean would find someone he cared about was just a bonus.

Stepping into the office, Sam saw that the interior wasn't much better than the exterior - old thin carpet and faded, peeling wallpaper decorated the room, the front desk looked like it was ready to disintegrate. A kid of about eighteen, tattooed and pierced, sat behind it with a porn mag.

The kid glanced at him over the edge of the page with a disinterested eye when Sam stepped up to the desk. Even flashing his badge didn't seem to motivate him much - he just sighed and dropped the magazine on the desk. _Busty Asian Beauties_, he and Dean would have gotten along well.

"I need to know if you had a certain person staying here," Sam said, making his tone serious and authoritative.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," the kid answered, pulling out the log book. "What'd they look like?'

Sam blinked at the blasé tone, apparently they got a lot of Feds in here looking for people…

"Girl, early to mid twenties, blond, thin-"

"Sure I remember her, you don't forget an ass like that," he said immediately with a leer, making Sam suddenly very glad Dean was outside.

"So she's not here any more?"

Not even looking at the log book, he told Sam, "Checked in day before yesterday, late. Checked out yesterday afternoon."

"Her room already been cleaned?"

"Of course, we run a class operation here, man," the kid told him with an amazingly straight face.

"I'll need to see the room anyway," Sam told him, knowing it would be pointless but also knowing Dean wouldn't settle for anything less.

A tattooed hand plucked a key off the wall behind him and tossed it down on the desk. Sam pocketed it.

"She driving?"

"Yep, sweet ride too - fuckin' cherry 68 Camaro. Black, 'Bitchmonger' on the back window in red."

"I'm sorry," Sam said shaking his head, sure he hadn't heard that right. "What was that?"

"'Bitchmonger, man. It said 'Bitchmonger'," the clerk repeated slowly.

"Bitchmonger…"

"Want me to write it down for you?" The kid asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, that's alright," Sam said dryly. "Anything else you can remember about her."

"Other than she was hot and had a badass car? Nope, didn't see her much. She checked in, left about an hour later. Came back yesterday, was in for about another hour and checked out again."

Sam nodded and muttered a thanks, tossing the timeline around in his head as he stepped outside.

"Whatcha find out?"

Dean's voice right next to him made him jump and he scowled over at his brother, who was leaning against the wall next to the office with his arms crossed.

"Room 19," Sam said, holding up the key, which Dean promptly snatched. Sam relayed the information the clerk had given him as they went down the walkway.

Pausing with the key in the door, Dean turned toward Sam with his head cocked, "Did you say 'Bitchmonger'?"

When Sam nodded, Dean burst out laughing, so hard that he had to double over and brace his hands on his knees. "Oh man, that's fucking classic. Buffy the Bitchmonger. Wonder who she stole that from? 68 Camaro though… that's sweet."

Turning the key in the lock, they stepped into the room and Dean's laughter died away. The place was a shithole, plain and simple. If they'd thought the outside and the office were as bad as it got, they'd been way off. The carpet was worn to the point where it was nothing but mesh in places, dark stains all over and so dingy it was impossible to tell what color it was supposed to be. Crumbling holes dotted the drywall, exposing wires and beams in random places. A thin sagging mattress sat on a bed frame that looked like it was ready to collapse at any moment. The thing that threw Sam off was the smell - from the way the room looked, he'd expected smoke or urine or mold. But it smelled warm and light, like clean sun dried laundry. Looking over at Dean, he saw his brother just standing there with his eyes closed taking deep breaths.

"Smells like her," he said, smiling when he opened his eyes. Seeing Sam looking at him, he turned away quickly and said gruffly, "Come on, lets see if she left anything."

Sam couldn't stop the grin that crossed his face at Dean's behavior, but held off from saying anything, just joined in the search. They didn't find anything of course. Not that the cleaning crew had done an exceptional job or anything, it just seemed like she was thorough in not leaving anything behind.

After dropping the key back at the office, they hit the road again, Dean turning the Impala north.

"What now?" Sam asked.

"We're going to do what everybody does when they don't know what to do next," Dean said, tossing Sam a smirk. "Go see Bobby."


	14. Phone Call Interlude Seven

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Seven**

_Buffy stepped out of the house and sat down on the back steps, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of the cool night air. It was late and the house was quiet and dark, but it just wasn't offering the peace she craved right then. Things with Glory were getting intense and she was sure it would all come to a head soon. The constant worry about Dawn, the threat hanging over her, and all of them, was wearing her down. _

_She jumped at the tinny sound of bells erupting from her pocket - she still wasn't used to carrying around the cell phone. Dean's name flashed on the screen. She almost hadn't put him in there, a strange battle of wanting to keep him "off the books", so to speak, versus wanting to have some proof, physical evidence of their connection. When she'd finally worked out how to add numbers, his ended up being first one she entered, her fingers seemingly moving of their own accord. _

_Seeing his name now gave her a feeling of dread, which she hated herself for. Talking to Dean had been such a relief for her for years now - like a soft, cool breeze on a sweltering day, you'd just close your eyes and let it wash over you, not wanting it to ever end. She'd ruined that for herself, with her stupid stomach flutters and non-friend-like feelings. Then there was the embarrassment of the way she'd acted when her mom died. She cringed at the memory of that weepy mess of a call. She'd only talked to him once since then, just long enough to give him her cell number since he was on the way out the door to a hunt. She wouldn't blame him if he'd been avoiding her after what she said to him._

"I don't want you here."

_What a lie that had been. She had just known how needy she had been then, how easy it would have been to just give into her feelings. What if it had been Dean there instead of Angel? Her pulse picked up at the thought. No! Nonono! It was better this way. Her and Angel could leave things as they were and still be friends (kinda). Things with Dean would be ruined. She relied on Dean to always be there. Lovers always left. But friends stayed. She wouldn't lose Dean like that. _

"_Hey Dean," she answered, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. _

"_Next time we see each other, you get a free shot. Just punch me right in the face."_

"_Uh… As fun as that sounds, why?" Buffy asked, completely bewildered. _

"_All that crap I spewed about how everything would be fine. When someone leaves… nothing's fine. It's not gonna be fine. Everything's gonna be different and it's gonna fucking suck."_

"_What happened?"_

"_Sam's gone. Just took him to the fucking bus stop myself."_

"_Oh, Dean… I'm so sorry…"_

"_Tell me I'm doing the right thing - letting him go. Because right now it feels pretty shitty."_

"_Do you think you could have stopped him? Changed his mind? Because I'm thinking he would have left any way, just with the two of you pissed at each other."_

"_I don't have to wonder, I saw what happened when dad tried to stop him. They just… exploded. They've been fighting, and it's been bad, but… tonight they just went for the jugular. Some of the things they said…"_

_And you're the one that stands in the middle and ends up ripped to shreds, Buffy thought with a frown. _

"_Dad asked what kind of son just abandons their family like this, that he was spitting on mom's grave. And Sam said dad would know, since that's what he was doing by choosing this kind of life for her kids. Asked what kind of father would do that."_

_Buffy sucked air in-between her teeth with a hiss, "Ouch."_

"…_dad told him to go and stay gone."_

"_You think he meant it?"_

"_Hell no, but what I think, what dad meant and what Sammy heard are completely different. He's so stubborn, I don't…"_

"_This isn't it, Dean. He's just going to college. He didn't die," the words could have sounded callous from anyone else, but her tone was sincere and she knew Dean would understand. _

"_I know, it's just… He's _gone_. What are we- Everything's-"_

_Dean stopped, giving up trying to express what was going on in his heart and mind, and Buffy felt warm knowing it wasn't because he was frustrated or embarrassed, it was because he knew she'd get it without it being laid out. _

"_Well, as much as I like the offer of a free shot, I'm morally obligated to decline," she said, lightening her voice. "Since everything you told me was right. It'll suck for a while, _really_ suck. But you'll keep hunting, watching your dad's back, keeping busy. And it'll get better, little by little. You let him go, supported his choice, he'll remember that, Dean. Things between him and you aren't like they are between him and your dad. Once things settle, I bet he'll call."_

"…_ya think?"_

"_Yep, I'm sure of it. Then maybe you can trick him into inviting you down and you can go swim in that pool of college coeds," Buffy said, forcing herself to laugh even though her stomach dropped at the thought. _

"_Hmm, sorority girls... __Excellent point, Buf. Maybe this won't be so bad after all," Dean said, taking the offered opportunity to regain his bravado and running with it even though she knew he was still torn up about his brother's departure. _

"_So, how are things with you?"_

"_Well, I found out my little sisters really a big ball of mystical energy meant to open a portal to a Hell dimension, so I've been playing hide and seek with the God of said Hell. Fun times on the Hellmouth," Buffy said, keeping her voice carefree, _

"_Par for the course then," Dean said mimicking her tone. "__Dawn's a mystical ball of energy?"_

"_Yep, some monks made her with my blood and put her here in the beginning of the year, then altered everybody's memories so it'd be like she was always here."_

"That's_ why I could never remember her!" Dean exclaimed like he'd discovered the cure for cancer. "Every time you said 'Dawn' for about a half a second, I'd always be like 'Who the fuck is Dawn?' Nice to know I'm not prematurely going senile."_

"_I'm sure you're premature in other ways to make up for it, Dean," Buffy said, sugar coating her voice and bumping the conversation off track. As great as Dean was for bouncing ideas off of and venting to, she didn't feel like doing that this time. She just wanted a moment where she didn't have to worry about all that. _

"_Wanna find out?" His voice was low and gritty, making her breath catch and those annoying stomach flutters go wild, overriding her gratefulness that he was following her lead away from heavier topics. _

_She forced out a laugh, hoping it didn't sound as breathy to him as it did to her. "All talk and no show, Winchester."_

"_Oh, I'll give you a show," he said, a grin in his voice. "I'll give you a damned three ring circus."_

"_Just three? How boring."_

"_That's it. My skills have been questioned, the gauntlet's been thrown. I'll just have to come to Sunnydale and prove my worth as a man," Dean said, as she heard the roar of the Impala starting in the background._

_Her heart pounded at the thought, mind slipping to images of planes of sweat slicked skin and flexing muscles. Wow… she really needed to get laid. Shaking her head, she forced out another laugh. "Your worth as a man? Doesn't that lie in your ability to kill big spiders and open the pickle jar? 'Cause I can do those on my own."_

"_I'm sure there's other services I can offer."_

_Warning bells were clanging in Buffy's head, it was time to derail this conversation before it reached the point of no return. "And I'm sure I can take care of those needs just as well on my own," she said simply, hearing him chuckle on the other end. Faint music reached her ears from the background on his end. "What are you listening to?"_

"_Wha- you don't know Tuesday's Gone? Lynyrd Skynyrd?" Dean asked, sounding truly wounded and forgetting any naughty comeback he might have had on the tip of his tongue - _don't think about his tongue, don't think about his tongue_ - just as she knew he would. _

"_Lynyrd Skynyrd? Did you grow a mullet and trade in the Impala for a Trans-Am?"_

"_Don't get bitchy because you have no taste in music. And I'd make a mullet look good."_

_Buffy snorted at the mental picture. "I'm sure if anyone could pull it off, it'd be you. And I know the song, I just would've pegged you for the Metallica version. Now shut up and turn it up, I like the guitar solo."_

_Dean laughed, deep and throaty, and cranked the music. _

_While Buffy listened to the guitar and Dean's loud off key singing she closed her eyes and smiled, that feeling of cool breeze washing over her as the tension leaked away. Laughing when Dean took to impersonating the guitar twangs and then joining her own off tune singing with his, imagining she was in the Impala with him on some dark stretch of highway._


	15. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Eight**

The warm water beat down on Deans head while he belted out AC/DC's TNT. Not that he really felt like singing at the moment, but he needed his game face back - being loud and obnoxious was part of the package. It was bad enough that Sam had caught him in some Buffy induced chick flick moment. He'd be damned if Bobby would see that crap.

Plus, the singing had the added benefit of beating down the worry that was trying to claw its way up his throat. That motel… what was Buffy doing in a place like that?

_Okay_, Dean thought as he grabbed the bar of soap, _let's lay out the facts so far._

Last time anyone had heard from Buffy, that Dean knew of, was over a year ago. She's staying in shitty motels, but apparently not sleeping according to the timeline the clerk gave. Also, Sam described her as "tired and too thin". _Something's very wrong…_ He shook his head, ridding himself of the annoying little voice in the back of his mind, he didn't need to hear from his gut right now, he needed to pick apart the facts.

But that was about it. Everything else was unconfirmed - Hellhounds, the murder of Frank Pilsner, the words of two demons claiming she was ready to toss John in the pit in exchange for either Angel or Spike.

She'd also saved Sam's life. Dean clenched his hand around the bar of soap and his singing paused. If she hadn't shown up… Dean had to almost physically beat back the panic that thought caused. His obsession had almost gotten Sammy killed, it should have been a proof positive that his decision to give up the ghost was the right one, but given the situation, that wasn't an option anymore.

TNT started up again, louder and more off key than before.

So, demons didn't go around saving people, possession seemed out. But she also had been looking for a hunter, likely beginning with "W" so Dean felt pretty confident in adding "looking for John" to the fact pile. But why?

Frowning in frustration, he reached for the shampoo. That's why they were here. Hopefully a fresh pair of eyes would pick up something they were missing, or maybe he'd heard something or had some kind of information that would help them figure this thing out. If anyone could offer any of those things, it would be Bobby.

It had been good to see the old hunter again. After the falling out Bobby'd had with dad, Dean had really missed the man that had become like family. He'd been worried they wouldn't be welcome, but Bobby had been glad to see them. Until he got a whiff of Dean anyway. He'd proclaimed that he'd let Rumsfeld on his couch before he'd let Dean on it and told him to go get a damn shower, Sam could fill him in. Dean almost groaned at the thought of what he was telling him, probably a bunch a crap about _feelings_ and _I'm worried_ and _you should have seen what a girl Dean was when I asked about her._

Dean rinsed and gave one last bellowed chorus before turning the water off.

After attacking his face with the electric razor and throwing some clothes on, he left the bathroom in search of Bobby and his brother. Half grinning, half grimacing, he edged his way around a wobbly stack of old books. Bobby's place had always held a fascination for him. Not because of the load of rare texts, that was more Sam's deal, but just at the odd feeling of controlled chaos within the walls. It looked like a total mess, but somehow, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Following the glorious smell of coffee, he found both of them at the kitchen table.

"I see you're finally done killing that cat in my bathroom," Bobby said.

" 'Killing the cat'? Isn't it 'choking the chicken'? And why were you listening? That's creepy, dude," Dean said moving to the counter with his back to them so they wouldn't see his bullshit grin. Grabbing a cup and pouring some coffee, he was able to have a straight face by the time he turned back around.

"I think he was talking about your singing, dude. And by the way, too much information," Sam said with wrinkled nose. Bobby just rolled his eyes as Dean gave a shrug and joined them at the table.

"So Sam says you're smitten with a Slayer, huh? Talk about out of your league…" Bobby said to him, shaking his head a little.

Luckily Dean hadn't yet taken a drink of his coffee, because he would have choked on it if he had. He managed to maintain a bit of dignity by simply shooting his brother a sharp glare. Sam tried to look innocent, but the effect was ruined by the way his cheeks twitched as he fought back a smile.

"Not smitten," Dean growled out, taking a gulp and burning his tongue in the process.

"Bobby, you didn't seem very surprised when I mentioned a Slayer," Sam said, turning his attention back to the older hunter and leaning back in his chair.

"Course not," Bobby answered. "Known about Slayers for a while now."

Sam looked put out by the fact that he was the only one in the room that the existence of Slayers had actually been a secret from.

"How'd you find out?" Dean asked, not at all surprised at Bobby's declaration - Bobby knew about everything.

"Ended up on a hunt in L.A. back about five or so years ago, ran into a former Watcher. He and some team of his were doing all the hunting in the L.A. area."

"British? Glasses? A huge douche?"

"Check on the first two, seemed like an okay guy to me though."

"Hmm," Dean said noncommittally, remembering the by-the-book Watcher Buffy had described that had assigned to her for all of five minutes. Maybe getting fired had changed him…

"So, lets talk about this girl of yours," Bobby said, getting up and pouring himself another cup. Before Dean could argue about the label, Bobby was going on. "Me and your daddy might not see eye to eye on everything, but he's a damn good hunter. Your brother said you seem pretty sure she's not what John thinks she is. Are you positive or you just letting your feelings get in the way?"

"Slayers hunt evil, not people," Dean said flatly, evading answering directly. How could he _not_ let feelings get involved when they were talking about Buffy?

"Just 'cause she's a Slayer don't mean she's innocent, as you well know. Everyone makes bad choices sometimes - has a breaking point," Bobby said, his voice practical but not unkind.

"She's not perfect, I'm not saying she is. But I know she wouldn't make a deal like that," Dean answered, looking back at Bobby unwaveringly. It was impossible for someone who didn't know her to know how absurd the idea was, so Dean had to just try and convince them. " Also there's the fact that she saved Sam's ass, or did he forget to mention that?" Dean asked, shooting a malicious look over at his brother while Sam shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"He brought it up. He skimmed pretty lightly over that though…" Bobby said, giving Sam an unimpressed look of his own. Then looking back at Dean, he sat down his cup as his face twisted in what Dean realized might actually be pity. "Hate to say it kid, but just because she saved Sam doesn't mean she didn't make the deal. She could've just wanted him alive to answer her questions."

"And then run off before asking any?" He asked, feeling anger bubbling up.

"She got the one she needed - if any other hunters were in the area."

Dean blinked back at him before deflating. "I know it looks bad, alright. And I'll admit, if she could save one of those asshole vamps from Hell, she'd probably go to some extreme lengths to do it. But she _wouldn't do this._"

Dean hated admitting how guilty she was looking, hated the fact she really would do just about anything to save those worthless vampires, but most of all, he hated letting Sam and Bobby know that. They didn't know her and it felt like a betrayal to let them in on one of her weaknesses. But they needed to know he wasn't looking at this with rose tinted glasses, he was seeing the situation as it was and still believed she was innocent.

The look on Sam's face was one of resolved determination, he gave a small nod to Dean when he glanced at him, showing his support. Bobby was just studying him quietly, which made him more than a little uncomfortable. After a beat, Bobby shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, lets see what we can dig up then. Find out what's going on." Dean noticed Bobby didn't come right out and say he believed him, but he also wasn't casting her to the wolves on hearsay alone. When you'd been around as long as Bobby had, you probably saw the worst people had to offer, probably made it hard to trust on someone's word alone. But as long as he'd help them find the truth, that was enough for Dean.

"I'll admit, the Hellhound bit bothers me," Bobby continued, his pointer finger tapping lightly on the table as he stared out the kitchen window. "Hellhounds can't just go after anybody. Someone has to have made a deal and it be collection time. That or been ordered after someone by a demon with some pretty serious clout. I don't see her running with a pack unless she was possessed. I know your marking that off because of what happened with Sam, but lets leave it on the table for now."

Sam and Dean both nodded, though Dean's was hesitant and reluctant.

"Or maybe they aren't Hellhounds at all. All we have is what little John said and Sam's 'I might've heard a dog howling'," Bobby said with a thoughtful look.

"We should talk to Jesse Sinclair," Sam said suddenly, sitting forward. "Dad said he saw what happened to Frank."

Bobby was nodding, "I'll see if I can track him down. Didn't John also say he'd been called and warned before about her snooping around after him? Must've been other hunters, maybe I can find out who all's seen her and what exactly happened."

"What about what the demons said?" Sam asked, shooting an apologetic look at Dean.

"I ain't believing what no damn _demon_ said. And John should know better than that, too," Bobby said in disgust, shaking his head. "They only say whatever works out best for them, whether it's truth or lies."

Standing up, Bobby grabbed his cup and walked over to the sink, setting it down with a muted clink before turning to face them again.

"You two look like death eatin' a cracker, you know that? Go get some sleep, I'll start making calls. It'll probably take a few days to find anything, I suggest you take advantage and rest up."

"So you just want us to hang out here? For _days?_" Dean asked, already feeling itchy and restless just at the thought. They should be _out there_, looking for… _something. _

"Quit your whining," Bobby said, moving toward the doorway. "There are worse things than downtime, boy. And don't you have a big ass dent in your rear fender that needs fixin'? Idjit."

Dean grimaced at the reminder of what he'd done to his baby as Bobby left the room. Looking over at Sam he had to ask, "You alright with this man? Just sitting around here? I know you've been pretty balls-to-the-wall about finding dad."

Sam shrugged, "If we're able to get a lead on her, we could possibly follow her to dad, or at least get closer than we are now. And if Bobby's able to find out where people spotted her, we'll know some places where dad's been - maybe figure out what he's up to."

So that was it then, Dean inwardly groaned at the thought of having his ass planted in one place for days when they could be out searching. But, while he didn't think he himself looked that bad, Sammy was looking a little worn around the edges. Maybe it was for the best. Plus, it would suck if they wandered off somewhere and then Bobby got a lead in the complete opposite direction. Sighing, Dean decided to catch a few hours of sleep before heading out to survey the damage he'd inflicted on his car.

Three days later, the Impala was gleaming perfection once again, Bobby hadn't made any progress on finding anyone that had seen Buffy, and Sam, seemingly having grown tired of pursuing Bobby's endless supply of books (something Dean hadn't thought was possible) , had taken to drawing to Dean's bafflement. Unable to keep his peace any more when he wandered past the study to see Sam sketching yet again, Dean had to ask.

"Dude, what's up with the happy little trees?" Dean asked, coming up behind Sam and making him jump. "You decided you want to be an artist when you grow up? You could be Bob Ross's replacement if you permed your hair."

Sam gave a snort, but was now studying the tree he'd been drawing.

"Wait… I've seen this," he said slowly, then jumped from his chair and strode into the living room, plucking dad's journal from the coffee table. Dean followed him as he flipped it open, extracting a worn family photo from when mom had still been alive. Sitting on the couch and laying the picture on the table next to his sketch, he frowned. "This photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The one where mom died?"

Dean sat down beside him and picked up the picture, his heart clenching even as his face remained unmoved as he looked at the happy smiling family that had no idea there lives would be ripped apart in just a few short months. "Yeah," he answered placing it back on the table and not looking at it again.

"And it didn't burn down right? Not completely - they rebuilt it," he asked, a kind of manic energy to him that was worrying Dean.

"I guess so, why?"

"Okay, this might sound crazy, but the people that live in our old house… I think they might be in danger. I can't really explain it, but-"

"Well try," Dean said flatly, eyes boring into his brother's. Sam's eyes skittered away and his shoulders gave a kind of tense shrug.

"These nightmares I have… sometimes, they come true," Sam said, his eyes still not meeting Deans.

Dean's eyebrows rose and he blinked at his brother. "You're having… prophetic dreams?"

"I-I dreamt about Jessica's death. For _days_ before it happened. The blood dripping, the fire, her on the ceiling - all of it. But I didn't believe it, so I didn't do anything. Now I'm having dreams about a woman screaming for help in this house," he said, tapping the photograph. "Our old house, Dean."

Dean's thoughts tumbled around in his head. This, _this_ is what Sam had been hiding from him. He'd been carrying this weight, this _guilt_, for months now, on his own. No wonder Bloody Mary tried to make a meal out of him. Then there was the building dread at where this conversation was headed, where _they _would be headed - Lawrence, Kansas. The last place on earth he ever wanted to set foot in again.

"This has to mean something right?" Sam said from beside him, earnest eyes boring holes in Dean. "What if it's the thing that killed mom and Jessica?"

"We'll have to go check it out," Dean said, his voice flat. "Bobby can call us if he finds anything."

When Sam didn't answer him, he turned to look at his little brother and found him watching him with a curious yet skeptical look on his face.

"What?"

"You're not freaked out?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. Kinda. But knowing someone like Buffy kinda tilts the scales on the levels of weird. Her circle of friends included an ex-demon, an uber-witch, two ensouled vampires and a little sister who happened to be a mystical ball of energy. On the scale of freakishness, dreaming of the future is pretty pussyfied in comparison. I mean, Buffy had prophetic dreams too, but she was also like, Hulk strong," Dean said with a shrug.

Dean knew his dad had always been of the opinion that supernatural automatically meant evil, and the majority of the time, Dean had found that to be true. They didn't really deal in the gray area that Buffy and Co. seemed to face daily. If he hadn't known her, hadn't heard stories about the tons of weird but nonevil things out there, he probably would have been pretty freaked out about now. Another thing he had to thank her for…

Looking down at his brother, he groaned at the dewy eyed look of gratitude the Sasquatch was wearing. "Dude, knock it off right now. No chick flick moments. I _will_ punch you."

Sam just gave him a smile and nodded, making Dean roll his eyes at how his little brother seemed to be able to make a moment sappy just with a look alone, like it just leaked out of his pores.

"Go pack us up, I'll talk to Bobby," Dean said. Seeing Sam pause with an unsure look on his face, Dean asked, "You want me to tell him? We don't have to."

Sam took a deep breath and shook his head, "No, it's fine, go ahead."

Watching Sam walk out of the room, he couldn't help but think his brother looked… lighter. Shaking his head at his own girly thoughts, he went out back to find Bobby elbow deep in the engine of an old Cutlass, Rumsfeld at his feet.

"Anything new?" Dean asked, leaning on the fender across from him.

"Not yet. Seems Jesse's gone off the map, not answering his cell and no one knows where he went. Waiting on a call back from an old buddy of his, might be able to clue me in on where the hell he disappeared off to. No luck on finding anybody that's seen your girl looking for John yet either."

"Well, we're heading out for a little while. Sam's got this shining thing going on and thinks that something bad's going to happen at our old house in Lawrence," Dean said simply - no point in beating around the bush.

Bobby's grease covered hands came out of the engine slowly as he eyed Dean with raised eyebrows. "Shining? Like he's seeing the future?"

"Seems like it," Dean said with a shrug.

"Hmm, seeing the future, that's new…" Bobby said, with a thoughtful look. Then in a move that made Bobby, Bobby, he shrugged and moved on, "So you think this might be that yellow eyed demon?"

"Not sure, we're going to go check it out though."

"Gonna call your daddy?"

Dean paused, that hadn't even occurred to him yet. He and John might not have been on the best terms right then, but this wasn't something he could leave him out of. What if it was Yellow Eyes? Dad had been searching for that sonofabitch for over twenty years, they couldn't very well cut him out now.

"Yeah, guess I am," Dean answered, mentally preparing the voicemail he'd leave for John.

"Call me and let me know how it goes," Bobby said, reaching back into the engine and shooting Dean a smirk. "I'll keep working on finding your girlfriend."


	16. Phone Call Interlude Eight

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Eight**

_Dean just barely noticed the fact that his phone was vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and gave it a cursory glance, registering Buffy's name before shoving it back and forgetting about it within a few seconds - mind and hands busy elsewhere at the moment. His dad was bleeding all over the place and inventing new swear words over in the passenger seat. Some of which Dean would have laughed at had he not been so busy trying to keep his shit together. _

_The hunt had gone bad quick. It was only an insane amount of luck that either of them got out of there in (mostly) one piece. There'd been sightings of a black dog in the area - a lot of sightings. The thing hadn't been shy and they hadn't had to do much digging to figure out what they were dealing with. So armed and ready to take the sonofabitch out, they'd entered the thick Virginia woods not even an hour ago. _

_Turns out there were so many sightings because there was a _pack_ of black dogs, not just one._

_Swinging the Impala around a sharp curve with a squeal and slide of tires, Dean righted the big heavy car easily. It hadn't taken the dogs long to be on them and from there on it was just a blur of gunfire and retreating. One had gotten ahold of dad and tore up his shoulder pretty good. In a typical display of badassery, John had treated it as no more than a paper cut and he and Dean had finally made it back to the car. Now that the adrenaline had worn down though, John was a mess of blood, gritted teeth and foul language. _

_After getting dad back to the rundown hunting cabin they were staying at, the next two days was awash with bandaging and Dean playing nursemaid to an irritable, fevered John while waiting for backup to arrive. Caleb got there first, and John was already well enough to not appreciate the other hunter's mischievous teasing and snarky remarks regarding his condition. Calvin Fisher arrived a little later. A huge man a little younger than John with red hair and tons of freckles, you'd think that he'd be too bulky to move as fast as a hunter was required to. You'd be wrong. _

_John stood over the table the rest of them sat at with a map sprawled across its surface. "Their hunting ground seems to be in this area," John said, making a small sweeping circle with his pointer finger on the map. "So we're going to do a small scale grid search - each of us at an outside point and moving inwards. Killing whatever we come across and herding whatever's left into the center. Hopefully the spread out scents will keep them from ganging up on any one of us."_

_It was far from a foolproof plan, but it was the best they could come up with. The next available hunters were still days away and if they waited any longer there might be another victim. Looking around and making sure everyone was with him, John nodded and went on._

"_I'll drop Cal off at the east point and head north," he said, again pointing at the map. Dean knew perfectly well that his father was taking Calvin instead of him because he knew Dean didn't approve of his going on this hunt. He'd tried to talk him out of it before the others arrived but dad had insisted they needed the extra manpower, that he could manage. "Caleb, you drop Dean of at the southern point and then head to the west. We'll all start moving in as soon as the sun sets. Got it?"_

_With that everyone nodded and started moving around the room - pulling out guns, checking ammo, strapping on knives. Dean stepped outside to grab the extra box of iron rounds from the Impala and was just closing the trunk when his phone rang. _

_Seeing Buffy's name on the screen immediately reminded him of the call a few days ago. Grimacing in guilt he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear._

"_Oh shit, Buf! I'm so sorry, I forgot-"_

"_Umm, is this… Dean?" An unfamiliar voice interrupted him. He was so unprepared, he just blinked for a second - like when you stick a piece of candy in your mouth and are expecting grape but get orange instead. There's that moment where you're just like "what the fuck" and have to kinda recalibrate your brain. She went on, filling the silence. "This is Willow, Buffy's friend."_

_Something was building in his chest, something heavy and awful he didn't understand. Maybe he was coming down with something. His heart was beating harder and his breath was coming a little faster. "Yeah… yes, this is Dean."_

"_Oh… good," she said although she sounded like it was anything but. "I saw your name on Buffy's phone. You're… friends?"_

"_Hmm," he answered indistinctly. Everything was taking on a strange disconnected quality and he still wasn't sure why. He vaguely noted his dad and Calvin leaving, his dad raised a hand to him and he returned it without thought._

"_Oh, well, she just never- I mean, I didn't- Sorry, I'm not very good at this," she mumbled._

"_Very good at what?"_

"_Giving bad news," she said before taking a deep breath. "A couple days ago there was an… accident. Buffy… she didn't make it."_

_And just like that unknown feeling that had been growing since the wrong voice came across the line, the one he could now identify as dread, exploded. Like there'd been an oil spill inside his chest, everything felt greasy and too full, rolling around and sloshing against his insides. _

"_The funeral is-"_

_He hung up and just stared at the phone in his hand. His other was clenched around the box of shells, so tightly we was surprised blood wasn't leaking down the sides, but still, he couldn't find it in him to loosen his grip. It was only then that he noticed the little envelope on the screen of his phone. Voicemail. With shaking fingers, he dialed his mailbox._

_Buffy's voice almost was his undoing, a kind of half gasp, half moan escaped._

"_Hey Dean, it's me. It's the third Thursday of the month, so you know, apocalypse time," she said with a small huff of laughter. When she continued, her voice was softer, more serious. "Things are about to get pretty hairy and I - I wanted to talk to you about something, tell you something…" After a brief pause, she continued. "We're leaving in the next few hours, so if you get this before then, give me a call." For a second he thought she hung up, but then he heard the intake of air, like she was going to say something else, followed by a sigh. "Well, I guess I'll talk to you later. Bye, Dean."_

_He replayed the message again. And again. It was halfway through the fourth time that Caleb came out. "Let's get a move on, kid," he yelled, making his way towards his truck. Dean snapped the phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket, moving to follow Caleb on legs that seemed simultaneously numb and too heavy._

_He slid into the truck and forced his hand out of its claw like position to drop the box of iron rounds in-between them. _

"_Nice call," Caleb said, glancing at the box as he started the truck. "I brought what I had, but didn't have the time to really stock up."_

'_Tuesday's Gone' poured out of the old Ford's speakers and Dean's vision tilted dangerously, making him realize he'd stopped breathing. In the back of his mind he heard her laughter, her singing. He watched his hand reach for the radio like it had been disconnected with body, clicking it off and letting silence claim the cab. _

"_Not a Skynyrd fan?" Caleb asked after a beat._

"_No… not anymore," his voice sounded far away and he didn't even remember giving his mouth the okay to talk. He wondered randomly if this was what possession felt like._

_He stared blankly out the window as the truck bounced down the rutted path toward his post. _

"_I need your head in the game on this."_

_Caleb's words were quiet, but deadly serious. Turning to look at him, he saw he was being watched warily - he wondered curiously what he looked like right then. _

"_It is," he reassured with a nod. And it was. Actually it was the only thing he was allowing in his brain at the moment. A constant litany of ways to kill a black dog, replays of past hunts, the way this might play out. Under no circumstances was he going to let himself think about that phone call. _

_Caleb nodded, but didn't look fully convinced. He felt Caleb's continued scrutiny, but found it hard to care. Minutes later they reached his drop off point. Caleb hesitated like he wanted to say something, but finally he just gave Dean one last intense look and drove off to his own spot. _

Iron rounds… blessed knife… don't get cornered…

_The words rolled around in his head, bold and loud, filling every nook and cranny, not leaving room for anything else. Pulling out his gun, he realized he'd left all the extra rounds in Caleb's truck. He found he didn't much care though. His magazine was full and he had an extra, plus two knives. As soon as the sun set, he marched north making no effort be quiet or stay concealed. _

Watch out for shadows… "You're always there when I need you. Thanks, Dean"…

_His steps slowed and the hand gripping his gun twitched._

Stop… keep moving… spread out your scent…

_Picking up the pace again, he tried to keep thoughts of her from his mind, but now that he'd let that one little piece in the others were squeezing in through the gap it left. Her laughter overlapped his fact spewing, the memory of her silly rambling tangled up his focus. _

I should have been there… She called and I didn't answer…

_The growl that sounded directly in front of him should have pulled him out of his thoughts, but instead, looking into those glowing eyes just made him furious. It was things like _that_ - evil, supernatural - that made her life hell. Took away her chance at a normal life, a husband, kids, her choices and her future. And he had no doubt one of them took her life in the end. _

Was it something like this that killed her? Did it rip her apart? Was is slow and painful? Did she cry?

_He'd always thought "seeing red" was an expression, but now he knew differently. It seemed like the dark creature in front of him was washed in crimson moonlight, pulsing in time to the beat of his heart. He dropped his gun unceremoniously on the ground and pulled out the wickedly sharp, curved knife at his waist. _

_He didn't even flinch as the huge black dog lunged at him. _

_He had no concept of time or movement or offence or defense. Everything was just a blur of red. It was only when a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind that he became conscious of his position. The black dog was underneath him, a mess of blood matted fur. He'd been crouched on top of it beating it with his fists. _

"_Jesus Christ, Dean!" _

_Caleb's voice was high and breathy as he yanked Dean off the carcass. Dean stumbled for a second, his legs almost not holding him before he locked his knees and forced himself to remain upright. He stared at the dead beast in front of him. Ruined and broken, his knife sticking out of its side and he still wasn't satisfied. Taking two jerky steps forward he gave it a vicious kick before Caleb was pulling him back again, turning him away from the dog, in what Dean guessed was an attempt to keep him from going after it again._

_Caleb was looking at him in a kind of horrified awe. "Dude! What the _fuck_?"_

"_It attacked me," he said simply, spotting his gun and slowly making his way toward it._

"_So you thought you'd bare-knuckle box the fucker?"_

_Dean shrugged and bent to retrieve his gun, noticing for the first time his blood and gore stained hands. He was sure he'd broken a few fingers, maybe a few knuckles as well. They didn't hurt, nothing did, he was just distantly numb. Straightening up, he turned to find Caleb watching him._

"_You get some bad news? When you were on the phone earlier?"_

_And just like that the pain that he'd been momentarily distracted from by fury and carnage was back. It must've shown on his face because Caleb just nodded._

"_I know how that goes, man. Lets just finish this up and we'll go out drinking. Probably best we keep you outta John's sights for a few days. And we should probably keep him in the dark about this totally stupid, but fucking awesome, caveman display."_

_And that's just what they did, Caleb earning Dean's everlasting gratitude in those two days. Not once did he ask about what happened or about his _feelings_ or any of that crap. He was just there. From what Dean could remember of it anyway. _

_When he dropped him off to what Dean was sure would be an irate John, Caleb offered him one piece of wisdom - that it would get better - words he'd fed Buffy and she'd told him as well. And he conceded that it might even be true. Maybe things would get better. But they'd never be the same. And they'd never be good. Not with out her. _


	17. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Nine**

The trip back home had been… interesting. And stressful. And heartbreaking. But the family that lived in their old house was safe - job well done. Dad had never shown or even called back, not that that should be surprising, but Dean had thought that the lure of possibly finding the demon might at least bring him running.

Missouri had been… His mind stopped there, left over caution from being in her presence warning him away from saying anything too rude. Sam had been freaking _delighted_ by her, probably because she gave Dean such a hard time. She'd filled in some blanks for them about the early part of dad's search and was able to help with the poltergeist but hadn't had anything to offer as far as finding John or Buffy. She was able to read thoughts and sense energies but couldn't just "pull facts out of thin air" as she put it.

She'd pulled Dean aside before he left with some words of advice though.

"_Don't you give up on her."_

"_I thought you couldn't see anything about her…" Dean had asked, both bewildered and hopeful. _

"_I can't, but I can see in _you_. She's like your glue, boy. You need her."_

Those words had both worried and galvanized Dean.

Bobby had called twice, once to tell them he'd found someone that had seen Buffy asking questions about John. Unfortunately there wasn't much to tell there - short, thin, blond asking if John had been in town, that was pretty much it - nothing new to go on. But the next time he called, he'd had better news. It seemed Jesse Sinclair had asked to borrow a friend's cabin a couple weeks ago. Bobby guessed he was hanging out there and gave the boys directions to its location in Wyoming, which was where they were going now.

After spending the day fighting an angry poltergeist and then driving all night, Dean's eyes felt like sandpaper. But there was no way he was going to wake Sam to take the wheel. The kid had been thrown around, almost choked, pinned to a wall and laid eyes on his mother for the first time since he was a baby. He needed some rest.

Mom… God, she'd been beautiful… Part of him was glad to have seen her, glad to have the fading memory of what she looked like pulled back into sharp focus. But the part of him that felt achy and raw wished he hadn't seen her at all.

The sun was coming up behind them, forcing Dean to bump the rearview down so he wouldn't be blinded. Orange light filled the car and the long stretch of road before them, tall trees sending stretched out shadows through the forest on both sides. Dean's window was down, the cold morning air helping his tired eyes and mind stay sharp while filling the car with the smell of the wilderness.

He woke Sam an hour later and they stopped for some breakfast before following Bobby's directions out to the middle of nowhere. It was around nine in the morning when Dean guided the Impala with a grimace down the narrow, bumpy drive to the cabin.

"Dude, Jesse was not kidding about getting away from it all," Dean muttered as the Impala hit a particularly big hole and the undercarriage scraped the ground.

Sam gave a small smile at his brother's inventive cursing. "He came out here right after Frank's death?"

"Seems that way," Dean answered. "Bobby said they'd been friends a long time…"

Dean didn't go any further. He didn't really want to feel sympathy for the man that was accusing Buffy of murder and instead of letting it twist all around in him, he decided to just try to keep an open mind while they listened to his tale. Dean was pretty sure he'd be able to tell if the man was lying or not. He really hoped he was…

Coming around a bend they finally laid eyes on the cabin. Small and squat, the building was in much better shape than Dean had been expecting given its out of the way location. A log cabin, the exterior was a rich dark wood with a large porch. Jesse Sinclair was currently occupying that porch with a shotgun.

Dean wasn't really surprised, no one went this far away from civilization that wanted to have visitors. He just hoped the man wouldn't start shooting at them before they even had a chance to get out of the car. Luckily, the gun went from aiming directly at them to pointing at the floor as soon as he got a good look at the Impala. Parking next to an old rusted Chevy pickup. Dean and Sam climbed out slowly, making sure Jesse didn't get jumpy and start shooting.

"Forgot yer daddy gave ya that car, boy," Jesse said, his southern accent as definitive as Dean remembered from the few times they'd met. "John still got that truck?"

"Yessir," Dean said, giving him a grin. "Nothing on this old girl of course, but he likes it."

"Damn nice truck," Jesse said with a solemn head bob, then focused on Sam. "You done growed again, ain't ya?"

Sam, of course, gave his wholesome "look-at-me-I'm-just-a-big-giant-teddy-bear" grin that seemed to automatically put people at ease. "Yessir, I guess I did."

Shaking his head, Jesse leaned the gun against the wall next to the front door. "You boys want some coffee?"

"God, yes," Dean answered immediately. Leading the way up the steps.

"Have yerselves a seat," the older man said, nodding at the chairs on the porch. "Be right back."

Sam lowered himself into one of the wooden rocking chairs while Dean opted to just sit on the top step of the porch. Jesse was a man of average height and build with that no-color kind of light brown hair, now dusted with grey. A face easily seen and forgotten, which was very handy in their line of work. Right now though, he was looking at least ten years older than he was. Dark circles swept under haunted eyes and the lines on his face looked like they were etched into stone. Dean took in all these details while accepting the offered steaming cup.

After a moment of silent sipping, Jesse spoke up as he leaned back in his chair, "'Spect you boys are here to find out 'bout that girl lookin' fer yer daddy."

"Yessir," Sam said, taking the wheel of the conversation much to Dean's relief. "We're trying to find her, but he really didn't give us much to go on. We were hoping to hear from you exactly what happened."

For a minute, Dean really didn't think the man was going to answer. He just looked away from Sam out into the misty forest around them. Shifting his chair into a slight creaking rock and drinking his coffee. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

"Frank and me, we grew up together ya know. Neighbors. Vampires got both our parents one night. We was only fifteen and got shipped off to live with relatives in different states. But at eighteen, we was both back out there - huntin'. Been huntin' together off and on since then. Couldn't asked for a better friend…"

Silence settled over them again. Dean wanted to prod the story along but Sam, as if sensing his brothers impatience, shot him a dark look that stilled Dean's tongue.

"Was over in east Montana lookin' into a possible poltergeist. Guess yer daddy had been up that way a few weeks before the thing manifested," Jesse finally continued with a shrug. "There's this girl in the diner in town, askin' if anybody seen a man come through in a big black truck named Winchester. The waitress, guess she liked the look of yer daddy, said she didn't know his name but remembered a guy like that, but it had been weeks ago and he hadn't been back since. Hadn't said where he was headed either. That was it, she left. We kept quiet 'course, hunters just don't go 'round blabbin' to other people about other hunters. That's a fool thing to do, good way to get yerself shot. So when we was back in the car we put in a call to John, let him know someone was lookin' fer him.

"That night, we're stayin' in this old cabin, way out in the sticks, kinda like this, ya know. Sittin' on the porch, havin' a few beers. That's when we heard it. The howlin'. Seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, then it cuts off real sharp like and starts again all the sudden. Been doin' this job long enough to know that weren't no wolf or coyote. So we load up and split up. Not much after that I heard it."

Jesse's voice tapered off, he was pale and his hand around the cup was shaking as he sat on the ground next to his chair.

"She was the devil. Evil in them eyes," he said suddenly, looking back up at them before his eyes strayed to the woods again, wide and staring at something neither of them could see. "He was- he was screamin' and them things was tearin' him apart. I ain't never seen a Hellhound before. Ya read stuff, ya know, but to see one..." He shuddered. "Then she was there, just came outta nowhere. She swung that red axe and blood- oh Sweet Mary and Jesus, the blood… It splattered all over her. And ya know what she did? Nothin'. Didn't even blink."

Silence settle around them and Dean felt just as sick and shocked as Jesse looked.

"What happened then," Sam asked gently.

"I ran like a coward, that's what happened. He was my best friend and I just ran away."

Sam opened his mouth and Dean was sure he was about to offer some kind of platitude, but seemed to realize that wouldn't be welcome, so he just continued with the questions.

"You said you saw the devil in her eyes… Were they black?"

"Ya wanna know if she was possessed, boy, just come out and ask. Ain't no need for mollycoddling with me, I ain't no kid. Been doin' this longer then you been alive," Jesse snapped, his gaze sharpening on Sam before looking back out at the woods. "And the answer is that I just don't know. I was too far away and it was too dark to tell if they went black. I know that them eyes was blank and empty, like there weren't no soul in there. I know she didn't give one wit about choppin' my friends head off. The way she moved… I don't know. I guess it'd make me feel better to think she was. That one person couldn't just do that to another, but… a person ain't gotta be a demon to do evil."

After that Jesse just shut down on the subject. Eventually Sam gave up his gentle prodding and he and Jesse shared a little small talk. Dean threw in a comment here and there, but his mind was somewhere completely different. Whatever had happened out there in Montana, Jesse didn't seem to be lying. The possession he'd tried to throw out the window as an option was now looking like a lone hope. While he was occupied with his thoughts, Sam and Jesse must have finished their conversation because suddenly his brother was standing and shaking the other hunters hand, wishing him luck and thanking him for his time. Dean numbly echoed his brother's sentiments.

"You find that girl. You make her pay for what she done to Frank," Jesse called out as they made their way back to the car.

"We'll find her," Sam called back, telling the truth but just not all of it.

"Well, that was… uh, interesting," Sam said as they made their way back down the drive, obviously testing the Dean waters.

"Hmm," Dean grunted. He still didn't think Buffy could do something like this, but it was useless just saying it over and over. They needed to find some proof otherwise, or find her. Plus, he didn't want to admit it (even to himself) but his faith was on shaky ground at the moment. Jesse Sinclair had been telling the truth, or at least what he believed was the truth.

"We should call Bobby," Sam said. "See if he's found anything new."

Dean nodded and Sam dialed his phone, thoughtfully putting it on speaker so Dean could hear the conversation. Not that Dean had any interest in digging Buffy into a deeper hole with Bobby or hearing Sam do it for him…

Bobby's gruff voice answered after a few rings.

"Bobby, it's us," Sam said.

"How'd things go with Jesse?"

"It was pretty much like dad said it was," Sam admitted with a sigh and glance at Dean. "They heard howling, went to check it out, Jesse says he heard Frank screaming and when he got there he saw Hellhounds tearing him up. Then-"

"Wait, he _saw_ the Hellhounds?"

"Uh, yeah, that's what he said. Seemed pretty freaked out by them."

Bobby's silence on the other end piqued Dean's interest. "Bobby?'

"Hellhounds are supposed to be invisible to anybody except someone they're contracted to collect. There've been descriptions of them, but only from people who they were already after."

"So… what Jesse saw _weren't_ Hellhounds?"

"Jesse's been doing this long enough to have read the accounts of what a hound's supposed to look like, if what he saw matched that… I just don't know. Something weird's going on though."

Even though it was just another mystery piled on their already overflowing pile, Dean was glad for it. One more piece to solve meant one more chance to find Buffy innocent.

"I'll see what else I can dig up on Hellhounds, but I called because I found something new. And you're not gonna like it."

Dean's momentary optimism slipped away like water down a drain.

"What is it, Bobby?" Sam asked, shooting a worried glance at his brother.

"Got another dead hunter that looks like he's been torn apart by Hellhounds. Guy by the name of Gordon Walker. Your girl was spotted in the area the day before."

"Shit…" Dean growled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Now, I'll admit, this doesn't look good, but I want to look into this some more before we go making any assumptions. Gordon wasn't your typical hunter. He was reckless and almost fanatical. A bad end waiting to happen. I'm going to see if I can dig up any more details on his death."

"Thanks Bobby, let us know what you find," Sam answered.

Dean drove on for a while in silence. He could see Sam out of the corner of his eye, his brother had opened his mouth to say something six times so far, but had managed to keep quiet. Dean wondered how much longer that would last and cranked up Metallica, telling him without words he wasn't interested int talking right then. What was there to say about it? Rehashing the same information over and over wasn't going to do a damn bit of good. And God help him if Sammy started in with the "How are you feeling" crap.

How'd he feel? He felt exhausted. He felt confused. He felt disillusioned - first with his father and now with Buffy. He still didn't believe she was just going around killing people with some Hellhounds while hunting his father, but there was no denying she was into something bad. Why hadn't she called him? He'd thought they were friends. And if he wanted to be all chick-like about it, he'd even say best friends.

They pulled into a diner an hour later and grabbed some lunch, Sam poking around on his laptop, looking up possible hunts they could hit on their way back to Bobby's, but Dean just wasn't interested. His food tasted bland, his eyes felt gritty and irritated, and he was just exhausted - physically and mentally.

Apparently, he wasn't hiding all this as well as he thought, because as soon as they stepped outside Sam offered to drive. Dean tossed him the keys without argument and slumped in the passenger seat wearily. He didn't want to think about any of it anymore, he just wanted a moment where worry wasn't gnawing at his insides. So he didn't fight it as the lure of sleep gripped him before they'd even made it back onto the interstate.

It seemed like he'd just shut his eyes when his phone rang. Digging it out of his pocket, he peeled his eyes open with difficulty to glare at the screen. Missouri's name lit up the front much to Dean's surprise.

"I swear I wasn't thinking anything bad about you," Dean answered honestly, his voice still thick with sleep. Sam shot him questioning look from the drivers seat and Dean mouthed Missouri's name at him.

"Well, that's good to hear. Else I'd have to slap you upside your head the next time you came through," Missouri answered flatly.

Dean winced, knowing she wasn't exaggerating.

"Thought I'd call, let you know your girl was just in town this morning."

Every ounce of sleep disappeared from him and he sprung upright so fast that Sam actually jumped, jerking the Impala wheel slightly in the process.

"She was there?"

"Mmmhmm, gone now, but she was here."

"What'd she say? How'd she look? Did you get anything off her? Where'd-"

"Calm down, boy. You're making my head spin. She was looking for your daddy. I'm not sure how she knew he'd been here-"

"Wait, he was _there_?" Dean asked in confusion.

Missouri sighed, "He got your call, Dean. He was worried-"

"You mean he showed up, found out it wasn't the demon that killed mom, and left without saying a word to us?" He was furious, and more than that, he was hurt. Dammit, he'd been _right there_. "When did he leave?"

"Just after you boys did."

"…she's getting closer. She almost caught up to him this time. Can you tell if she's still nearby? In the city?"

"She's not. She was giving off a powerful energy. I knew as soon as she was gone."

Dean swallowed, "You could read her? What- what'd you see?"

"Nothing good. I wish I could be more specific, but it was just a storm of bad energy, honey. If you hadn't told me she was something supernatural herself, I would've doubted she was human. But anything imbued with that kind of power is bound to mess with my readings. I did get one very clear thing from her when I told her you were looking for her. Fear."

"Fear? Why would she be scared of me?" Dean asked in bewilderment.

"Don't know. But that's what I got off her. Tried to get her to stick around, but she was gone just quick as a wink after that. Within fifteen minutes she was completely gone from the area."

"How'd she look?"

"Looked like something the cat dragged in, actually. Don't know where she was coming from, but it wasn't anywhere good, that's for sure."

"Do you think she's…" Dean didn't know how to finish that sentence, and more than that, he didn't want to. Luckily Missouri seemed to know exactly what he meant.

"I know she's doing what she thinks she has to. Whether that helps or not, I'm not sure."

"Thanks, Missouri."

Dean scrubbed at his face as he hung up and relayed to Sam what Missouri had told him. Sam looked absolutely irate that dad had been in town and hadn't contacted them. The part of Dean that trusted John implicitly knew that his father was doing what he felt was in their best interest. But another part of him was just as pissed off as Sam.

"Let's stop for the night. We'll see if we can pick up her trail tomorrow," Sam suggested, his anger still burning under the surface but just sounding tired.

It was early for them to stop, just closing in on six o'clock, but despite the last few hours of sleep, Dean was still dragging. The conversation with Missouri seemed to have wiped away all the rest he'd gotten and left him feeling just as worn out and anxious as he had before he went to sleep. A warm meal, a hot shower and a comfortable bed sounded like heaven.

It was his phone that woke him again the next morning as he lay in lumpy motel bed. He was really starting to hate the thing. Peeking at the front with one bleary eye, an unknown number glowed back at him. Sighing irritably, he answered with a gruff, "Yeah?"

"Dean. It's Cassie."

He didn't register the name at first. When he finally did, his face twisted in disbelief and confusion.

"Cassie. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?" He answered, trying to be polite. Okay, not really - his voice was flat and unfriendly.

Cassie Robinson had been the one romantic relationship that Dean had ever had. It hadn't lasted long, but being more than one night it meant it was longer than any other girl he'd been with. It was also pretty much a disaster.

After Buffy had died, things for Dean had been rough for a while. Really rough. He'd buried himself in hunting to the point where he gave John's determination and focus a run for its money. He'd understood a lot more about his dad after that. The need to bury yourself in something, to find something for your mind to latch onto besides that feeling of loss. That's what made dad the incredible hunter that he was. And Dean had probably been the his equal, if not his better, in those three months.

In the fourth month he'd met Cassie. Smart, funny and beautiful with her "I'm not taking crap from anybody" attitude, she'd attracted him like a moth to a flame. It hadn't been until much later that he'd realized _why_ those characteristics drew him - what void he'd been trying to fill with her company.

Buffy had come back a few weeks after he'd started seeing Cassie. Of course there'd been that relief - that overwhelming relief that he'd hated himself for since even knowing where she'd been, what she was going through didn't diminish its intensity. But underneath that, there was this lingering doubt. The incident had woken a harsh fact for Dean. Buffy was the Slayer and Buffy was going to die. Again. Probably soon. Slayers just didn't live to ripe old ages and Buffy was already past the average Slayer expiration date.

What would happen the next time this happened?

That fear of losing the only person in the world he had to talk to about anything and everything again prompted him into a very selfish move. Telling Cassie what he really did. He wanted another Buffy. A Buffy with benefits. A Buffy that wasn't going to leave him high and dry again. A backup Buffy, if you will. But that had blown up in his face. Cassie had thought he was nuts - seriously mental institution nuts - and had broken things off, implying in so uncertain terms that she'd call the men with the straightjackets if he showed up at her door ever again.

"I know we didn't exactly end things on the best note," she said. "But my dad was killed last night and… I think it's something… something like you deal with."

Oh, so was calling _him, _the crazy man, for help. Dean pushed down his irritation. He was the one that brought it on himself after all. He broke the cardinal rule - "We do what we do and we shut up about it". It had been stupid and borderline cruel to dump it on her and expect her to just be okay with it. To be Buffy. As if anyone could ever fill those shoes.

"Alright, tell me where you are," Dean sighed and grabbed the paper and pen off the beside table to jot down her info.

Setting the pad back on the table with his phone, he saw Sam watching him through barely open eyes. "Wazzit?"

"Later. More sleep now," Dean mumbled curling back up under the covers.

It wasn't five minutes later that Sam's phone was ringing.

"Oh for fucks sake," Dean growled. He was about ready to send both the phones out into the parking lot.

"I got it," Sam said, hoisting himself into a sitting position with effort and answering the phone after a few sleepy pokes. Dean snickered at his brother's bed head as Sam stumbled to his feet and stepped outside. Finally having some peace and quiet restored, Dean let himself drift off again.

And then Sam was there shoving at his feet. "Get up dude, we're going to Chicago."

"Chicago?" Dean asked, giving up on sleep with a discontented sigh. "Wait. We can't, we have to go to Missouri."

"She called again?"

It took Dean's waking mind a minute to figure the question out and he stared blankly at the scratchy floral bedspread while his brain scraped together what was what.

"The state, not the person. Friend of mine needs some help."

"Well, that was Bobby on the phone. Said there's a bunch of weird crap going on in Chicago we need to check out. Buffy was there."

That woke Dean up, he blinked at Sam and motioned for him to continue as he pulled himself up and started digging through his duffle.

"He didn't really have all the details. Weird unexplained murders in locked rooms, and something about drugged up devil worshiping dog fights."

"What the fuck?" Dean said, looking up at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, pretty much my take on it too," Sam said, pulling some clothes out of his own bag. "But there was a description of someone that matches Buffy involved so he thinks we better go check it out. I told him about Missouri calling and he said between her sighting, the one where Gordon was killed and this new one in Chicago he might be able to work out some kind of pattern - figure out where her or dad might be next."

Sam went to take a shower and Dean called Bobby back, explaining the situation with Cassie and asking that he find someone he trusted to look into it. Bobby promised he would and if all else failed, he'd take care of it himself, putting Dean's mind at ease. He grabbed a quick shower for himself while Sam was out getting coffee and breakfast and then they hit the road.

As he turned the Impala toward Chicago, his guts twisted in anticipation. They were getting close. He could feel it. The question was, what exactly would he find and was he sure he really wanted to know?


	18. Phone Call Interlude Nine

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Nine**

_Buffy stared at the phone in her hand - not opening it, not fiddling with it, just staring at it. She should call him. Tell him she was back. She felt no excitement at the thought, no dread either. She felt nothing about it one way or another, as if it were a bland chore that had to be done, like brushing her teeth. She felt like this about everything these days. _

_Willow had already asked about him - tentative but curious. She told Buffy about finding Dean's name in her phone and how she'd called to tell him… what had happened. Willow's slightly disgruntled expression when she touched on how rude he'd been was the first thing that had made her almost feel like smiling since she'd gotten back. Almost. Buffy had just nodded, not offering up any explanation even though it was plain that Willow was waiting for one. _

_She was currently sitting on a gravestone in the middle of the cemetery. Everything was still and silent, not even a breeze ruffled the leaves and the only light was that of the half full moon overhead. Buffy sat with her shoulders slumped and her head hanging in an uncharacteristically weary way. There was no one here watching her every move, asking if she was alright, analyzing her reactions - no one to keep the pretenses up for. Except maybe when she made this call she'd have to put that façade back on. Could she really tell Dean? Tell him what had happened? Where she'd been? Did she really want to burden him with that? And if she did would he actually buy it? Somehow she doubted it. _

_The questions rolled around in her head but there was no feeling behind them. They were just something else to occupy her mind, something else that had to be decided, another moment to pass. Even the thought that she might feel like this forever didn't really give her any more than a fleeting feeling of desperation. _

_She wondered if it would have been better if she'd just jumped from that tower right after they'd brought her back._

_Shaking her head, she arrowed down to Dean's name and made the call - knowing she'd wandered into dangerous mental territory and that it was time for the next distraction. _

_He answered after the third ring, his voice heavy with sleep, making Buffy realize for the first time how late it really was. _

"_Dean."_

_There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end followed by silence, making her wonder if he'd hung up. Then there was a rustling of bedding shortly followed by the low creak of a door. _

"_Buffy?" His voice was so quiet and hopeful, it made something deep inside flicker faintly._

"_Yeah, it's me."_

_There was a thump and a scratchy sound like something had covered the phone. _

"_Dean? Are you still there?"_

"_Just… talk," he said, his voice so low that she could barely understand him. "Say anything. Just keep talking."_

"_I don't- I'm not really much for small talk these days…"_

"_Tell me what happened."_

_She wished she'd kept her mouth shut, or just rambled about something stupid like the weather. Her rambling seemed to be stalled lately though. Words were weighed carefully before they were released, making sure nothing got out that wasn't supposed to._

"_I died," she answered simply. "And now I'm back."_

_Dean barked out an unamused laugh. "You're back," he repeated, sounding a little unbalanced. _

"_Yeah. Willow and her witchy mojo you know. She's getting pretty powerful…" Buffy said, not adding her opinion on that power. "I know you probably don't believe it's me, what with everything we see. But I don't really know what to say to prove it…"_

"_I don't care," Dean said, surprising her with his vehemence. "I don't care if you're a zombie. I don't care if you're a ghost. I don't care if you're just a figment of my imagination from missing you so damn much."_

_There… there was that tiny flash of something again. Something warm and welcome._

"_Well, if I was a ghost I couldn't hold the phone, right? And all the zombies I've met have pretty limited conversation skills - usually just with the 'Grrr… arggg', ya know?" _

"_So that just means I'm crazy or you're real."_

"_We both know you've always been crazy though. Ever hallucinated about me before?"_

"_I think they just call those fantasies," he said, but his humor was more automatic than actually heartfelt - something she could identify with._

_There was a moment of silence between them and Buffy let it be, knowing Dean probably needed a moment to process what was going on. _

"_You died," he finally said roughly and Buffy could hear the accusation and betrayal in those two words. _

"_I did," she said, because what else could she say? She was sorry? She wasn't, she'd made the right choice. That she was glad to be back? She wasn't. That she missed him? She hadn't, she hadn't missed any of them - there had just been the knowledge that they were all okay and everything would be fine. _

"_You're… something's wrong."_

_Buffy flinched hard as Dean hit on the thought that had been circling her mind like a vulture since her return. Something was wrong. _She_ was wrong. _

"_Everything's fine, Dean. Just, rejoining the land of the living, it's a process."_

"_Don't give me that. You've probably been feeding everyone else that line, but don't try it with me. I know you, Buffy and I know you're leaving something out."_

_For a moment she didn't answer, she stared out over the rows of gravestones, remembering what it had been like to pull herself out from under one. "I think I hate them," she finally said, giving up on the pretenses and letting the cadence of her voice fall flat. "Or at least, I think I should hate them. But I don't feel anything. I don't feel anything for them at all. I had to dig my way out of my own grave." She heard his sharp intake of breath but was glad he didn't say anything. Now that she'd started she wanted to get it all out. "They brought me back and left me down there. They didn't know though. There's so much they didn't know…"_

_Her voice tapered off as she tried to reconcile that fact with herself. But defending their actions with ignorance didn't make her feel any better, any more whole._

"_I was happy. I was happy and at peace and I was _done_," she said, that nothingness giving way to that flare of desperation again as she remembered. "Everything was warm and soft, and I was loved. I never really thought much on what happened after, ya know? But… I think I was in Heaven. And they ripped me out of there. Into my own coffin."_

"_Oh god, Buffy…" Dean's voice was thick and she had a moment of envy for his emotions. Even talking about what had happened to her, there was this disconnect, some missing link._

"_Everything here is harsh and bright and violent," she said, her brows furrowing at the differences between where'd she'd been and where she was now. "They thought I was in Hell. They thought they were _saving_ me. But this… this is Hell. Every moment here, knowing where I've been… what I've lost…"_

_She fell silent, wondering if she had expected to feel better after all that. She didn't. There wasn't any relief that someone else knew, there wasn't any guilt at burdening him with her issues. It was just another moment passed. _

"_Come see me," he said suddenly, making her blink in surprise at his determined tone and the odd change in subject. "I'm in Athens, Ohio. Get out of there, away from them, away from the Hellmouth. Even if it's just for a little while."_

_The thought of seeing Dean made that warmth flash through her again. She hadn't realized how cold she'd been… She wanted to, she really did. And the thought that she actually _wanted_ anything at all was new and welcome. _

_But she didn't want him seeing _her_. _

_He knew her better than anyone else, and he'd see in a heartbeat how… _broken_ she was. He thought he could fix this, that's why he wanted to see her. But what would happen when he realized how irreparable the damage was. That maybe she wasn't the same Buffy he'd known and cared about before. That little flame of warmth he'd ignited died as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on it. What would happen when he realized she wasn't the person he'd been friends with and might never be again._

"_I'd like that," she said, forcing the words out through numb lips. "But just not right now. Everything's just… I need some time to figure things out. Get used to being here again." She needed more time to practice pretending to be like she was…_

"_But soon?" He asked after a hesitation._

"_Sure, soon," she said hopping down from her seated position and brushing her pants off. "Listen I've gotta get back. They get a little wiggy when I disappear for a while."_

"_Fuck them, let them be 'wiggy'. Don't go yet."_

_A small smile tugged at her lips and she paused, shifting her weight in indecision before giving in and settling on the ground in front of the grave marker she'd been sitting on. _

"_Okay, just a little longer. Tell me how you are, how's your dad? Sam?"_

"_Well, me and dad are pretty much the same. Been keeping busy hunting. Things were a little… strained after Sam left, but we worked out our own routine. Sam's been doing good. You were right, he called me two days after he left. He calls a few times a week. Still hasn't talked to dad though…"_

_Buffy listened to Dean's account of his conversations with his little brother - what classes he was taking, what the school and the people were like, what the girls were like - what hunts he and his dad had been on recently, and anything else that popped into his mind. Buffy threw in a comment here and there but mostly she just sat and listened to the rumble of Dean's voice, enjoying the way it stoked that little flame of warmth inside her back into existence and fanned it larger and brighter by the moment as she leaned back against the stone behind her, feeling more relaxed than she had for the last few days she'd been back. _

_By the time they hung up dawn wasn't far off and Buffy almost felt like a real person again. Dean's reluctance to get off the phone had been touching and even made her feel a little guilty (and even that was welcome, it felt good to feel anything again) - she couldn't imagine what a mess she would have been had their positions been reversed. _

_Unfortunately, that didn't last long. The little ball of warmth held over as she arrived back at the house, it even managed not to be doused by seeing her friends and sister and their probing looks, it kept up all the way until she climbed into bed and fell asleep. _

_But the nightmare of waking in her coffin again effectively wiped it out. _

_The next day was like the previous ones, hard and seemingly never ending. She tried to find that spark of feeling again, wanting to know it hadn't been a fluke, but it was gone. She was seriously reconsidering his offer to come see him. She still had the same worries as before but somehow that need to feel something, anything, again was overriding it._

_Then Angel called. It was perfect timing. No one had made her feel things as strong as Angel, she could see him, hopefully reawaken her dormant emotions and not risk losing Dean's friendship. For some reason it didn't matter to her what Angel thought of her, not like it did with Dean - she decided not to think on that too much just then. _

_But if she thought there was just going to be an overflowing of feeling when she laid eyes on her former lover, she was sadly mistaken. His eyes had been just as soulful as she remembered, his embrace tight and heartfelt, his words sweet and loving, but, while she returned his embrace on the outside, on the inside she was wooden and unmoved. _

_The desperation was back, creeping like a vine through her consciousness. Maybe she should be grateful she could at least feel that, but she wasn't. _

_Angel talked to her, tried to get her to confide in him about her time in Hell, but while she gave the same "I don't want to talk about it" spiel, she was wondering if she'd really felt anything at all when she'd been talking to Dean, had that really happened? Time here seemed to drag on so much it already felt like it had been forever ago that she'd talked to him. _

"_I have to go," she said suddenly, standing from her seated position beside Angel. They'd met at in a town between L.A. and Sunnydale in a small but pretty park. Angel blinked up at her from the bench they'd only sat down on ten minutes ago. Hurt and concern twisted his features and she had a moment where she wished that expression moved her, but then the desperation was back, thorny and strangling and she just turned and left him there. Already mentally mapping her way to the nearest airport._

_Buffy flew into Columbus, Ohio and was in Athens before noon. She held her phone in one hand, while she steered the rental car around the college town with the other. Part of her was complaining loudly that this was stupid and unnecessary, but an even louder part was saying that nothing had ever been _more_ necessary. Just the thought of finally seeing him, that she'd taken this step, had set off the little flicker of warmth in her again. It was enough to make her hope that when she saw him, she'd be… what? Fixed? Thawed? Normal? She wasn't sure, but it had to be better than what she was now. _

_She flipped open the phone and was glancing between it and the road, getting ready to dial, when she spotted it. The Impala, gleaming and perfect in front of a small restaurant. She grinned at the sight of it, something in her loosening. Maybe he was getting something to eat for him and his dad. Probably coffee and breakfast knowing the schedule they kept. _

_She parked down a little bit across the street and climbed out of the car, running a nervous hand over her hair and wishing she'd had a chance to freshen up a bit. She'd left straight from Sunnydale to meet with Angel, right from Angel to the airport and then right from the airport in Columbus to Athens. She probably should be tired, but she wasn't. Just faintly tingling with anticipation. She was finally starting to feel alive and she hadn't even laid eyes on him yet. _

_She crossed the street quickly and turned back toward the restaurant, more like a little café now that she could see it better. Small tables scattered behind a cute wrought iron fence and bright white umbrellas shading them. She was a little surprised Dean would pick a place like that to pick up coffee and food from, she'd have to tease him about his newly refined taste. _

_She paused by the Impala, not being able to resist, she ran a hand along one sleek sun warmed fender. Maybe she could get Dean to take her for a ride. Roll down the windows and crank up the music and just drive for a while. _

_Smiling at the image and feeling lighter than she had since she'd returned, the fall was all the harder when she looked back up to the outside tables and saw him. _

_And his date._

_She froze, hand still against the Impala but now more as a form of support than one of longing and comfort. His back was to her, but she knew him anyway. Leather coat slung over the back of his chair and a blue long sleeved tee, dark blond hair that looked darker than it was in the shade of the umbrella. His date was a beautiful dark skinned girl with a brilliant smile. They were holding hands across the table and laughing over something. _

_Why was she so surprised? Had she thought that his life had just stopped when she'd died? She suddenly felt very stupid and bitter. Not quite the feelings she'd been looking for. The little flame had been thoroughly extinguished and the tingles of anticipation were squished like spiders running across a wood floor, leaving only a greasy smear in their wake as proof they'd been there at all. _

_She turned away from the scene and crossed back over to the car. She just sat in it for a while, remembering how she'd called him before she went off to face Glory. She'd known then that she might not make it back from that one. It wasn't everyday that someone faced a Hell god and lived to tell the tale after all. _

_She'd been ready to tell him she loved him. _

_Dawn had been gone and the regrets of things left unsaid and undone had been eating at her. It was completely selfish but she'd wanted him to know what he meant to her. She was glad now that he hadn't answered. Not only because her own feelings (all of them, not just the ones for him) been shattered, but because he didn't deserve to be burdened with that - with her. He deserved sunny lunches with beautiful women, laughter and happiness. Not a broken friend he felt obligated to, someone that would latch onto him and drag him down just to make herself feel better. Coming here had been selfish. It was actually lucky that he'd been with someone else, it kept her from making a huge mistake. _

_At least that's what she told herself as she drove off. _


	19. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Ten**

"Officer Reynolds, could you go over what exactly went on here? We've read the reports but we'd like your take on the situation," Sam said in his best serious FBI voice as they approached the abandoned warehouse.

Officer Jason Reynolds was a rookie and you could practically see him puffing up with self importance at the fact that the FBI wanted his opinion on what had probably been one of the strangest cases ever seen in Chicago. He didn't seem to understand that the older cops had pawned Sam and Dean off on him because nobody else wanted to deal with the Feds. The brothers were far from complaining - Reynolds was very talkative and had no problem divulging not only every detail, but also the rumors and speculations of the other cops.

"Well, it started out with some calls about some wild dogs in the area. Had about half a dozen calls come in from a six block radius about hearing viscous barking," Reynolds said, as they stopped by a dark splattered stain outside on the pavement in front of the building. "The responding officers came across a drunken tourist right over there," he motioned across the street. "Guy turned left after leaving that strip of bars over on Whittier and got lost, ended up here. Said he saw two women - both blond, one with short hair, the other long - fall out of that window."

Dean and Sam followed his gaze up to the third story which showed a jagged hole of broken glass in the stretch of large windows. Dean looked back down, realizing the dark stain was directly under that window. His breathing picked up and he had to remind himself that this had been a few days ago, Buffy'd been seen by Missouri since then. So no matter how ugly and foreboding this bloodstain was, it couldn't all be hers. She was still alive, out there somewhere.

_But if something's riding around in her skin, it wouldn't matter now would it? It could keep going with all kinds of fatal injuries and she'd just drop once it smoked out._

Dean cringed away from that thought and turned his attention back to Reynolds.

"He thought they were dead but one of them, with the short hair, got up almost immediately. He said she was bleeding all over the place but didn't act like it hurt at all. When the other one, the one with the long hair, started to get up, the one with the short hair just took off. The second followed after."

Dean and Sam shot each other loaded glances and Reynolds just nodded, "Wait, it gets weirder."

He led them to the entrance and ducked under the police tape, then continued on past an old rickety looking elevator to a flight of stairs.

"Now, this witness obviously wasn't very reliable - Merrin and Kyle, the responding officers, were taking everything he said with a grain of salt. I mean, two girls falling out of a third story window and walking away? Right. Then he had to throw in there that one of them was carrying an axe, so they pretty much blew off his story. Until they saw this," Reynolds said, his brown eyes shining as he enjoyed the spotlight. He flung open a doorway on the landing they'd stopped at with a flourish, revealing a large space beyond that looked like a small tornado might have gone through it.

Old mannequins were ripped apart and scattered around, chunks of brick from the bare walls dusted the floor and a floor-to-ceiling beam near the center of the room was actually bent. Then there the overturned table and the random items scattered around it. Stepping carefully over a few broken black candles and a silver goblet, Dean crouched in front of the table and examined the strange symbols carved into its surface.

"There were other things that are at the lab right now. A mirror with something drawn on it with blood, another cup like that one," he said, pointing a toe at the goblet. "But bigger with weird designs on it and blood inside it. And two human hearts on small iron pikes."

Dean couldn't stop the disgusted curl of his lip as he spotted two dark smears, obviously where the hearts must have landed in the scuffle.

"I'm not sure how detailed the report you read was, and it hasn't been released to the public, but those two killings the press are calling the 'stealth murders' - both the victims hearts were missing," Reynolds continued. "I'll get you a copy of the files when we get back. We still aren't sure how they were getting in the buildings - all locked from the inside, security systems set but never going off, no signs of forced entry or anyone leaving."

"So has anything come back from the lab yet? Any guesses on what the hell was going on here?" Sam asked looking around the torn up area again.

"Nothing from the lab yet, but it's kind of obvious what was happening," Reynolds said with a superior look. When Dean and Sam just stared at him blankly, he gave an exasperated shrug. "A devil worshiping dog fighting and drug ring," he said, like it was the most obvious thing ever.

"A devil worshiping-" Sam started.

"dog fighting and drug ring," Dean finished."

"Yeah, one there was all that barking. Two, those girls couldn't have walked away without being on something. Three, all the satanic paraphernalia. People like that won't be able to hide for long, especially with all those dogs," Reynolds said, nodding confidently.

Sam was looking at the cop like he was speaking another language, so Dean butted in before Sam's giant brain could start pointing out all the flaws in the assumption.

"Thanks Reynolds, I wish working with locals was always so easy," Dean said, laying it on thick but also completely telling the truth. "When you're getting those files on the murders together, if you could throw in the crime scene photos from here before everything was moved and taken for evidence, that'd be a great help."

Reynolds smiled widely before smothering into an expression of almost professionalism and nodded, "Sure, if you want to come by the station, I should have them ready in about an hour."

Deciding to kill the time in between with lunch, Dean drove to nearby diner. Sam looked less than enthusiastic about food right then, but Dean had seen enough gross and weird stuff by then that it really didn't affect his appetite. Some blood and two little heart smears weren't going to hold him back. Ordering the days special and giving the cute waitress a grin, Dean turned to Sam.

"So, dog fighting devil worshipers," Dean said with a sardonic eyebrow raise.

"Don't forget about the drugs," Sam said shaking his head with a small grin. "You know how that PCP can keep you alive after a ledge jump."

"Of course," Dean said with mock sincerity, before getting serious. "Well, we can pretty much say that the Hellhounds were here. But even they can't just poof into a building."

"Invisible but corporeal," Sam said with a nod. "And I've never heard of them taking body parts either."

"Buffy could probably take a fall like that, Slayers are pretty damn tough. But what about that other chick…"

"Or they could both be possessed," Sam offered with an apologetic glance.

Dean shrugged, determined not to let his mind linger on that possibility, "Could be."

"Well, we can't really make any guesses until we see the reports and the crime scene photos," Sam said leaning back in the booth.

They spent the rest of the meal in silence - Sam's brain probably working overtime on putting together facts and Dean… Dean found he wasn't as hungry as he'd originally thought. Buffy'd been here - but what part did she play?

Reynolds had been on the ball, he had the reports ready to go as soon as they walked in the door. They thanked him again, and Dean, feeling generous, made sure he spoke loudly enough for the rest of the cops to hear about how nice it was working with the kid. Sam had given him a dewy eyed look as they got back into the car causing Dean to roll his eyes and give a preemptive "Shut up" before his little brother could even start.

Back in their room, Dean tossed down the files on the table and grabbed both him and Sam a beer before settling himself in across from him. Sam already had the photos and papers out and spread across the table. Taking a drink of his beer, he pulled a pile toward himself and went to work.

After a few minutes of shifting through the photos from the two "stealth murders", Dean kept coming back to the ones with the blood splattered on the floor. Plucking the pen from Sam that he'd been twirling between his fingers while he studied the pages in front of him, he connected the blood splatters in the victims homes. Both formed the same symbol.

"Hey, I think I saw that…" Sam said, shifting back through the photos of the warehouse. Pulling out one that showed the contents of the spilled table, he made a sound of triumph as he pointed at the broken mirror. Sure enough, the pieces, once put back together, would from the same symbol.

"You seen it before?" Dean asked wracking his brain for anything similar and coming up empty.

"Nope, guess I'll call Bobby," Sam said, pulling out his phone.

Dean nodded in agreement and went back to the pile of pages in front of him.

He could hear Sam talking in the background but something new had caught his attention. Looking at the birth place of the first victim, he furrowed his brow - that was… odd. He immediately dug out the info on the second victim, now completely tuning Sam out.

Well, shit.

"Bobby says this symbol is for something called a daeva," Sam said, rejoining him at the small motel table. "Really old and really nasty. They have to be summoned by someone with a good amount of power. And it's risky - they don't like being controlled and they'll turn on the summoner first chance they get. Dean are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, yeah Sammy. Demonic pit-bull, bites the hand that feeds them, major player in town - got it," Dean said distractedly. "Now look at this," he slid the two papers over to Sam. "Look at their birth places."

"Lawrence, Kansas…" Sam looked up at his brother with wide eyes. "You think this has something to do with the demon that killed mom and Jess?"

"Don't know. It's a hell of a coincidence though."

Sam sighed and leaned back in his seat, running one hand through his shaggy hair and taking a pull from his own beer. "Well, it seems like whatever was going on here is over now. There haven't been any more murders and the daeva's alter was destroyed. That should mean they're banished back to where ever they were summoned from."

Dean picked up his own beer as his mind spun into overdrive. Did Buffy stop the daevas? Were they here because of her? Or was she here because of them? Where did the Yellow Eyed Demon fit in? And who was the other girl? Dean sighed and looked up at Sam. He had no doubt his brother was asking himself the same questions and coming up just as empty as Dean was for answers.

The next morning Dean's phone rang as they were packing up. Bobby's gruff voice greeted him.

"Your friend's all squared away. And anytime you have another beautiful woman calling you for help, I'll be more than happy to take the case off your hands."

Dean huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "She's something, isn't she? So you went in and took care of it yourself?"

"Uh-huh. Just a pissed off redneck spirit, didn't take no time at all. Listen, I got something new for you boys to check out. Guy by the name of Daniel Elkins was killed. I've seen that name on something your daddy was working on a while back, before he disappeared. I think there's a good chance he might show up there."

The drive to Manning, Colorado was long -even switching out, they still decided to stop and catch a few hours of sleep in the car. Not the most comfortable, but it could have been worse. The following night they pulled up to Elkin's cabin.

The place was a mess and sifting through the crap to try and distinguish clue from garbage took a while. It was obvious there had been more than one attacker, and also that Daniel Elkins had put up one hell of a fight. Finally, armed with Elkins journal and the location and combination of a post office box which had been carved into the floor with his own fingernails in his last moments, Dean and Sam left the cabin.

A quick trip into the post office later, the two sat back in the Impala eyeing the letter addressed to "J.W." with curiosity.

"Think it's for dad?" Sam asked.

"Don't know," Dean answered, flipping the letter over as if there'd be some clue on the back. "Should we open it?"

A knock on the window had both of them jumping like scared little girls, much to Dean's disgust. Jerking his head around, he was shocked to see his dad's stubbled face grinning back at him. Despite his previous anger at the man, the only thing he felt when he laid eyes on him was relief. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but part of him had been increasingly worried about his dad's wellbeing the more they found out about Buffy's recent activity.

"Dad," he said quietly as the man slid into the backseat and shut the door.

"Boys," John said, his deep voice still offering the same gruff comfort it had since Dean had been small.

"Dad," Sam said softly.

"Sammy," John's attention settled on his youngest and it seemed like he was soaking in every detail of Sam's face - picking up on everything that had changed about him since they'd last seen each other. "Last time we were together we had one hell of a fight."

Sam swallowed hard, instantly looking ten years younger, "Yeah…"

Then dad broke out in one of those rare smiles he had, the one that made you feel like everything was right in the world if it was directed at you. "It's good to see you again, son."

Sam broke out in an exact replica of their dad's smile and Dean could see the sheen on his brother's eyes. No doubt he'd be in one of his "let's hug it out" modes if they hadn't been in the confines of the Impala. But despite his mental teasing, Dean felt himself smiling along with them.

Then John turned his attention on Dean, his large calloused hand clasping his eldest's shoulder. "I know we're not seeing eye to eye right now, son. But can we just work together for now? We'll, hammer everything else out later, alright?"

How could he say no to that? The fact that his dad planned on killing Buffy was still wiggling around in his brain, but for now his family was back together -something he'd hoped for a thousand times. He told himself he could convince dad of Buffy's innocence later but deep down he wondered if he wasn't just being naïve.

"Yeah, okay dad," Dean said with a nod and a smile.

"I heard about Daniel. I got here as fast as I could," John said. "I saw you two up at his place."

Dean and Sam glanced at each other in confusion and Sam voice the question on both their minds. "Why didn't you come in?"

"Because I had to make sure you weren't followed. By anyone or anything," John said, shooting a glance at Dean. Some of his good will toward his father faded away at that look. He was talking about Buffy.

Before Dean could comment, Sam went on. "So you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?"

"Yeah, he was a good man. Taught me a hell of a lot about hunting. Hadn't seen him in years though."

Remembering the letter in his hand, Dean handed it back to his father. "Think this is for you then."

"_If you're reading this, I'm already dead…" _John started, reading from the pages, then paused as his eyes scanned the rest of the letter. "Sonofabitch… he had it the whole time… When you searched the place, did you see a gun? An antique, a colt revolver?" He asked his gaze intense as he looked back and forth between them.

"There was an old case, but it was empty," Dean said, remembering the box laying on the floor of the cabin.

"They have it. We have to pick up the trail," John said, that deep hunting focus Dean knew so well coming forward as he levered himself out of the car. He leaned back in the drivers window. "If Elkins was telling the truth, we need to find this gun."

"The gun? Why?" Sam asked. Dean could feel the first pang of dread at that question. He knew where this would go. Sam hated being in the dark and dad hated explaining himself.

"Because it's important, that's why," John's said impatiently.

"Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet."

"They're what Daniel Elkins killed best. Vampires."

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "Great. Fucking vampires," he mumbled, his hassled tone that of a kid who's mom just asked him to take the garbage out.

Because when things are already messed up, there's always a fucking vampire around to make it worse.

The next day was spent on the road tracking the vamps and Dean listening to Sam slowly get more and more worked up about working with dad again. It finally came to a head in the middle of a dark stretch of road where the two of them almost came to blows. Dean was already worn out from playing peace keeper and they'd only been back together for about a day.

He was glad when they found the vampires lair the following morning, he'd much rather focus on kicking some vamp ass than keeping his brother and father from kicking each others asses. While they got ready to go in, dad told them the story of the colt. A special gun made when Halley's comet was overhead and the men died at the Alamo. A gun made by Samuel Colt for a hunter. A gun that could kill anything. Anything as in the Yellow Eyed Demon.

More determined than ever, they entered the vamp nest. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. Do they ever? Sammy's attempt at rescuing what he thought was a hostage and turned out to be a newly turned vampire, screwed their shot at the colt.

Next step, funeral home. After that, bait. Fun times. Dean hated playing bait. And that nasty undead bitch had shoved her tongue in his mouth. Fuckin' needed a whole pack of Mentos after that.

Dad decided he'd go do the trade for the colt and had ordered them out of the area after they'd rescued the prisoners and taken care of the vamps remaining in the nest. But instead of following his dad's orders, like he'd always done, Dean agreed with Sam - they were going after the old man.

They arrived in the woods just in time to see the deal go south. The chick they'd captured catching John off guard and giving her boyfriend a chance to land a blow. Dean raised the crossbow but before he had a chance to fire, there were three puffs as the vamp entourage were dusted and a figure barreled into the leader as he was standing over John, both of them tumbling over the pavement. Dean took the chance to send the wooden bolt into the chest of the chick they'd captured. Feeling satisfaction at seeing her burst into a cloud as he remembered her disgusting kiss.

And then there was only one figure and a pile of dust.

"Sorry buddy, can't have you killing him. I need him."

He'd know that voice anywhere.

Buffy.

Dean froze as he soaked in the sight of her. She stood easily, the harsh lights of the cars illuminating her blond hair and sending a glare off the Scythe. Jeans and a dark sweater that seemed a little big on her, fading signs of a black eye almost lost in the circles beneath flat green eyes and a victorious smirk that looked out of place on her face didn't take away from the fact that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. A smile swept across his face.

"Buffy…"

At the sound of his voice, her attention snapped to him. Her eyes widened and the color fled from her face.

"Dean…"

"DAD! NO!"

Dean jerked at the sound of Sam's voice and turned to see his father with the colt aimed at Buffy.

Then he pulled the trigger.

He was moving before he knew it, he might've yelled something but he didn't know what. All he could hear was the sound of the gun echoing in his head and all he could see was Buffy's startled face looking at John with wide green eyes. There was no way he'd get there in time - he wasn't faster than a speeding bullet, he couldn't magically stop it, so why was he running?

What stopped him wasn't his reasoning skills, it was the ferocious snarl that came out of nowhere and the dark shape that slammed into Buffy from the side.

Either the colt didn't work worth a damn, or his father had missed, because both Buffy and the dark… thing where now rolling around on the pavement in a furious scuffle. When they ended up directly in the headlights of one of the cars, Dean's eyes widened as he finally saw what was attempting to kill the blond Slayer.

Hellhound.

That's all it could be, but calling it a "hound" was a bit of a stretch. It was only dog shaped in the most basic of ways. About the size of a calf, its skin seemed to be inside out, writhing with blood and shadows. Its limbs were too long for its body and bent in strange places. Tiny triangled ears sat on top of a massive head with a muzzle that was wide and long and filled with gigantic black teeth. Glowing red eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the girl beneath it.

Buffy had managed to get the Scythe between her and the hound and it currently had its maw wrapped around the handle.

"Buffy!" His shock passed and was replaced by horror and panic. No way had he just found her to let this thing take her out. He raised the crossbow, not sure what good it would do but hoping it would at least distract it from its current goal of ripping her head off.

But before he got the shot off, she wedged her legs beneath it and with a grunt of effort sent it sailing back over he head where it hit the ground on its side and slid a few feet. She was on it before he could blink. The Scythe humming through the air in a way that was just creepy and burying itself in the thing's head.

"You have the worst timing, you know that," she muttered at the corpse as she pulled the blade free with a wet "shlunk".

Not wasting another moment, Dean marched over to her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her protectively behind him while mentally vowing never to let go of her again. Part of him just wanted to shake her and demand his answers, the other part just wanted to snatch her up in a hug and never let go. But he knew better than to take his eyes off his father just yet. From his place between her and John, he could see that Sam must have kept him from taking another shot and was now on his ass rubbing his jaw and looking pissed.

The wrist he held in his hand felt tiny, fragile, and he was relieved beyond belief to have that heartbeat thrumming away beneath his fingers. But there was an odd tremble through her that concerned him. Had she been hurt? He wished his father wasn't there looking so damn murderous so he could check on her, but that would just have to wait.

"Awesome shot, Mr. Winchester," Buffy said, the sarcasm in her words had more bite than Dean was used to hearing from her and he barely stopped himself from turning to look at her. "Maybe you don't care if you hit me by accident, but I really hate getting shot. So next time, how about a little more care with the aiming?"

"He wasn't aiming at the hound," Dean growled out. He heard Buffy suck in a sharp breath in response and the trembling in her wrist paused.

His father looked livid, gun still aimed at them. Staring down the barrel of the colt, Dean had a moment where he wasn't sure if his dad would actually shoot. He wondered where a son measured up against revenge in his dad's scale of importance.

"She made a deal, son! A deal with the thing that _killed_ your _mother_," His dad yelled, his eyes boring into Dean's as if he could move him out of the way with the force of his convictions alone.

"No, she didn't, dad," Dean argued. They'd just seen the Hellhound try and kill her, wasn't that proof that what they'd heard wasn't right?

"Actually, maybe not the best time to bring this up… but yes, I did."


	20. Interlude Ten Ten Months Ago

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Interlude Ten - Ten Months Ago**

_Buffy stared at the pay phone in the corner of the small diner as she picked at her meatloaf. The garish pink and teal décor that had tried to blind her when she had first walked in was now muted and unimportant as her vision focused unwaveringly on that telephone. She'd been chasing the yellow eyed demon for two months now and had thought about calling Dean only about ten thousand times. Again the urge pressed in on her to just go dial those familiar digits, to hear his voice. But what would she say? She'd have to lie through her teeth and even then he'd know, because it was Dean and he always just knew._

_Or she could tell him the truth. _

Yeah, great idea, Buffy, _she chided her self. _I can hear it now, "You know that demon with the yellow eyes you and your family have been looking for for like twenty years? Well, I found it and have been following it but haven't told you. Oh, you want to join up with me? Sure, let's just convince your hard-ass father to follow me all around the country on nothing more than a gut feeling. I'm sure he'll be down with that."

_Buffy rolled her eyes, somehow she doubted that would go over real well. If it were just Dean, it would be one thing. But John Winchester was another matter entirely. She had absolutely no proof that she was following the demon. There'd been no more signs, no murders, no fires, nothing. Just her Slayer senses going wiggy. As soon as she had proof, she told herself, then she'd call. She wasn't going to force Dean to pick between her and his father, he'd gotten stuck in the middle like that too many times with Sam, there was no way she'd do that to him too. _

_So she looked away from the phone and went back to picking at her dinner, popping a bite of mashed potatoes in her mouth as her mind started wandering over more mundane topics like how she needed to do some laundry and the fact she needed to buy a new razor before her legs started to resemble Sasquatch. But her fork and mind stilled as she caught the tail end of something the man behind her was saying. _

"_-lightning and wind just came outta nowhere. Hate this damned Oklahoma weather. Even my damn radio was shorting out."_

_Dropping her fork she spun in her seat to face him, "Where exactly was this?" _

_The old truck driver, thinking she was a storm chaser and more than happy to be the focus of such a cute girls attention, was eager to give her the details. Minutes later Buffy was climbing in the old Toyota she'd gotten from a demon in Arizona. It had been kind enough to give it to her after she'd cut it into three separate pieces and set them on fire. The truck driver had told her that he'd just gotten through the storm before stopping there at the diner, it was just a few miles to the west. _

_She'd felt the demon close by for days now, that tingly itchy feeling across her skin that she'd grown accustomed to. The level of evil it exuded was like a flare for her Slayer senses. Sometimes it was like she was right on top of it and then suddenly it would barely register at the edge of her awareness. She wondered if it was playing with her. _

_Less than ten minutes later she was in the storm. It was just like it had been in Greenfield - thick, writhing grey clouds, purplish lightning and high winds. Not really unusual weather for Oklahoma, but the highly concentrated current of evil in the air told her she was on the right track. The thing that Buffy didn't understand was the location. There was nothing but stretches of desolate Okalahoma plains around there - no towns, no houses, not even a gas station. The rapidly darkening sky made it hard to pick up the details of the surrounding land, but at least it wasn't raining, that would have made it down right impossible. After another few minutes of driving, she spotted an old farm house. It seemed an unlikely target, but the Scythe humming next to her seemed to think otherwise so she pulled into the long winding drive. _

_The house was large and white (or it was white where the paint wasn't flecking off anyway), two stories with narrow windows and a small front porch. Maybe some people would have thought it was quaint, but Buffy kept remembering all the horror movies she'd seen where the unsuspecting cute blond ended up at the old house in the middle of nowhere._

"_If this is some kind of trap involving a freak in a mask and a chainsaw, I'm gonna be seriously pissed," she grumbled. _

_She climbed out of the car, Scythe in hand and made her way toward the front door. There wasn't really any use in stealth at this point. There was no way that anyone who was looking could have missed her coming down the long driveway. Lightning cracked again overhead and her hand tightened on her weapon. The front door wasn't even closed all the way and all she had to do was nudge it with her boot for it to creak the rest of the way open. _

"_You're not getting axe murdered. You're the one with the axe," she muttered, trying to convince herself as she peered inside._

_The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and from what she could see without going in, which was the entry way and maybe a dining room, it was completely empty. She stepped in cautiously, expecting to hear the boards under her feet creek. But there was no sound other than that of the wind buffeting the windows. She supposed she should be glad that there were no dead fathers, burning mothers or children in peril, but at least she'd know the score in that sitch, _

_Going past the staircase and through the room to the left, she came around the corner and saw it. The demon had its back to her, but the static in the air assured her that when it turned around she'd see yellow eyes. It was standing with it's hands clasped behind it as it stared out the back window over the field behind the house that was being lit by the streaks of lightning. _

_As if sensing her presence, it turned to her. It was wearing the body of a middle aged man with thick black hair in jeans and a yellow button-down shirt. It matched his eyes. The expression on his face was an odd mixture of annoyance and excitement. _

"_You certainly are a persistent little thing, Buffy" he said with a tilt of his head._

"_What can I say, I'm like a dog with a bone," she said, forcing her self to give a relaxed shrug. The fact that it knew her name bothered her. She felt like she was at a disadvantage - something she hated. "You know who I am, don't you think it'd be polite to introduce yourself now?"_

_He gave a sharp bark of laughter, "Of course, where are my manners. I'm Azazel."_

"_You were waiting for me…" Even though she'd suspected a trap, it was still a little disconcerting to be proved right. She didn't like that he felt comfortable enough to face her, it meant he thought he had the upper hand. _

"_Of course, it's time we get down to business," he said, leaning his back against the wall next to the window with a smile. "As much fun as you are, I have other things, much more important things, to be doing. I've been checking up on you, and now that I know what I can offer you, we can have our face time."_

"_Something you can offer me?" She asked, incredulously. A low burn of anger flaring to life at his words. She thought about Dean and all that had been taken from him and his family and she took a step forward, hand tightening on the Scythe. "Can you reverse time, Ass Weasel?"_

_She had the momentary satisfaction of seeing a brief glimpse of fury before he was once again smiling. "No, no I can't. And even if I could, I wouldn't. Things have been going very well for me."_

"_Then there's nothing to talk about," Buffy said as she lunged forward. He was ready for her this time and avoided the swing of the blade with speed that put a vampire to shame. He moved in close and landed a blow across her face that sent her stumbling back but she was on him again a second later. She was better than him, she could feel it. She was slowly but surely getting the upper hand and every swing, every step, every blow, was that much closer to taking him down. Seeing that he was getting nowhere going toe -to-toe with her, Azazel used the next blocked blow to twist away and put a few feet between them before throwing up his hand. The familiar force she remembered from their encounter in Greenfield slammed into her. Her feet slid on the old wood floors, leaving a clean track in the dust. Gritting her teeth, she pushed back and managed to stop her backward motion. _

"_If you kill me, your precious Angel's going to rot in Hell," Azazel bit out, the effort of holding off Buffy showing in his voice. _

_She stopped pressing forward in a moment of shock and the demon took the chance to shove hard and slam her into the wall behind her. The drywall cracked and bits of plaster rained down from above. Where the hell had that come from? How'd he know about Angel and what was he talking about? It had to be a trick, a lie. She hadn't talked to Angel since before Sunnydale collapsed, but as far as she knew he was playing puppet master over at Evil, Inc. _

"_Angel's a big boy, he can take care of himself," she bit out, her muscles shaking as she tried to break free. _

"_Yes of course," he said, his flippancy sending off warning bells in her head. Then he smirked, "At least he _could_, you know, before he was turned back into a human."_

_Lie or no lie, the statement shocked her so thoroughly that she once again was slammed into the wall behind her with a whoosh of lost air. _

"_What are talking about?" She gritted out, knowing she shouldn't engage it - it could, and most likely would, lie to her face about anything and everything. But she had to know…_

"_A wonderful little thing called the Shanshu Prophecy. A _reward_," he said with sarcasm. "For his service to the side of the light. He fulfilled his part in the apocalypse and in return he got to be a person again. And then the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart had him dragged off to Hell."_

_Shanshu? What the hell was a Shanshu? And which apocalypse? Did she miss one? She knew his plan was to take out Wolfram and Hart from the inside out, had he done it? Made his move?_

"_Angel can handle Hell, he's done it before," she said, keeping her voice nonchalant even though her mind was still tumbling, filled with possibilities. "The Powers won't leave him there. They'll find a way to get him out."_

"_They're done with him. He served his purpose, he's effectively off their radar," Azazel said with a wide grin. "He did his job, received his compensation, their involvement with him is at its end. Plus, he didn't go to just any old pathetic hell dimension. He went to _the_ Hell. _My_ Hell. The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart must have called in a favor or ten to get him locked up down there." _

"_Why? What's the difference? What can they do in your hell that they couldn't in any other hell?" She didn't really want to know, she shouldn't be encouraging it to go on. It was all lies anyway. It had to be. But she couldn't seem to stop herself._

"_They'll turn him into a demon of course," he said with relish. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on her and she had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly how thrown off she was no matter how much she was trying not to show it. And he was loving every moment. "You can't say they don't have a sense of poetic irony to them. He destroys all their hard work and gains his freedom from the demon inside of him. Only to have them drag him to hell and make HIM into a demon. Then when he's all shiny and newly evil, voila, instant CEO to rebuild what he broke."_

"_What do you mean, they're making him _into_ a demon?"_

"_That's what a demon is, didn't you know? A _real _demon, not those pathetic creatures you kill. Someone who's had all the humanity tortured out of them," he explained patiently. He started walking around the room and his grip on her loosened but she didn't move, just listened with a growing sense of unease. "Before, he just had a demon riding around with him, trying to take the wheel at any opportunity. But after they're through with him, he'll actually _be_ a demon. His soul will be burned away to nothing. Probably won't take too long either, he's already so damaged. Every month here is like ten years there, so I'd say that they should have him up and running things by the end of the year." _

_By now he'd completely let go of her, but she just stayed there, leaning back against the cracked wall as she stared at the floor, not really seeing it. What if he was telling the truth? What if Angel went up against Wolfram and Hart and was now in Hell because of it? And _human_? She didn't even know where to begin thinking about that. Maybe she could talk to Willow. They weren't on the best of terms right then, but she'd help him if she could, right? _

"_I can see the little wheels spinning. Its cute. But you can't spell him out of there," he said, making her head jerk up in surprise. "Nope, there's only one thing besides divine intervention that will get him out of there. You. But, you can't get in. If you die, you're not going to Hell and even if you somehow arranged it so you would go to Hell when you died, you'd be no use as just a soul. But, I might be able to help you out with that… A little deal between us friends?"_

"_A deal?"_

"_You let me go and I'll give you an all access pass to Hell. I need you to stop this stalking. It's adorable, really it is. But I have a To-Do list that's about a mile long and I can't get anything done with you breathing down my neck." _

"_I could kill you and make a deal with some other demon if that's what I wanted to do."_

_"They wouldn't let you in. A slayer running around Hell, with THAT?," he said, his eyes flicking to the Scythe. "But I will…"_

"_Why do I have to go in? What about a straight up exchange? Him for me?" She really didn't like this idea, but she wanted as much information as she could get. _

"_Since he's not really ours, we've just kind of been… outsourced, we don't have the authority to make deals regarding his release."_

"_But you're willing to let me go down there and get him?" She asked skeptically. "And you just get off free and clear? I don't think so."_

"_You really want to risk it? Could you handle that?" He went on, still roaming the room. "Knowing that he was down there, step by step getting the humanity burned out of him and you had a chance to save him but didn't take it? There's no one else that will go, no one else that can do it. No one's jerking him out this time, they've washed their hands of him." He paused right in front of her and cocked his head to the side with a mocking half smile. "What do you really have to lose anyway?"_

_The words bit into her, because she'd actually just been thinking the same thing. She refused to let him see that though. "I'm not going to just take your word on this."_

"_Then go do some checking," he shrugged turning away from her and practically daring her to attack his exposed back as he walked back over to the window. "It's not a secret. And we both know that you can find me again. I won't even run from you this time."_

_She stood there just staring at him as her mind raced. He looked back at her with a smirk then nodded and slid the window open before smoking out of the man's mouth out into the air, leaving behind a vacant eyed corpse. She watched it go and clenched a hand around the Scythe, furious at being helpless to do anything about it. Because it was absolutely right, she couldn't just leave Angel in Hell to become a demon if she could stop it. Not only because she cared about him and the thought of him receiving his reward only to have it turn out like this broke her heart, but there was also the fact that she had no doubt that Angel would be one scary demon. With all that he'd seen and done, practically sitting at the feet of Angelus, the thought of him running Wolfram and Hart was not pretty. She couldn't let him become that._

_She needed to verify what he'd told her. And where was the best place to look up prophecies? _

_First stop - Scotland and the New Watchers Council. _

_Two days later Buffy stood on the edge of the forest looking at the castle that had become the new Council headquarters and home to most of the new Slayers. It was closing in on midnight, but she knew that didn't mean anything. Slayers and Watchers kept random hours. Time to be stealth-girl. The old castle was huge and drafty, but it was incredibly impressive to look at, had more than enough room for all the girls, was in the middle of nowhere and Giles got a great deal on it (or so he said - Buffy thought maybe he just had a yen to live in castle). But being old and so large offered numerous ways for her to sneak in. She realized they'd been a little overconfident to rely on their Slayer-tinglies to alert them to any danger - they'd never really thought about another human trying to break in. On the other hand, it made her job a hell of a lot easier. She was in and creeping down a hall toward the library without even breaking a sweat. _

_In all honesty, she probably didn't have to do it like this. She could just walk in and go look at the books, they wouldn't stop her. They would lecture her almost to the point of death though, of that there was no doubt - and that in itself made the secrecy a necessity. Hearing voices coming from around the corner, Buffy slid into an alcove and hid in the shadows. _

They should put some suits of armor in here_, Buffy thought to herself randomly. _And Willow could enchant them like in Harry Potter.

_Her thoughts of having the castle defended by empty suits of armor came to a screeching halt as the voices came closer and she recognized one of them as Dawn._

"_-and then Andrew said she had hairy feet like a hobbit and she turned beet red and…"_

_Her sisters voice continued on down the hall, neither of their steps even slowing as they passed. Her chest tightened as she heard Dawn's carefree tone. She was glad that she was okay, happy even, but it still hurt. Taking a deep breath and getting back on track she slipped back into the hall and was in the library a moment later. _

_Looking at the massive amounts of books lining the walls, her shoulders slumped and she pouted at the thought of digging through them._

"_If you're going to sneak around in here, you shouldn't wear the perfume you stole from me."_

_Buffy spun around to see her sister in the doorway, staring at her with a raised eyebrow and her hands on her hips. _

"_I let you borrow it and you kept it. Therefore it's not stealing when I take it back."_

_The two stared at each other for a moment, neither really knowing what to say._

"_Since you're skulking around here like a fugitive, I guess that means you're not back to stay," Dawn asked._

_Buffy shook her head, "Just needed to look something up."_

_Dawn nodded and the awkward silence settled over them again._

"_Dawn, I -"_

"_Buffy, I-"_

_They both blurted out at the same time. Stopping and blinking at each other, the tension in the room eased. Dawn gave her sister a small smile, before she sobered and went on, "The things I said. I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm not saying that there aren't… issues between us. But I shouldn't have said what I did."_

_Buffy stared at her sister, noting that Dawn didn't say she didn't mean them, just that she was sorry she said them. _

"_What I said didn't come out like I meant either, Dawn. I just wanted… more for you. But you're right, it's your choice and it's got nothing to do with me," she said. She didn't think things would ever be like they were between the two of them, but she still loved her little sister and didn't want things to stay so ugly between them. Especially with what she was considering doing in regards to Angel. _

_Dawn nodded, looking sad but also a little relieved. "I'll make sure no one comes in here. What are you looking for, maybe I can point you in the right direction?"_

_Buffy smiled, "Thanks, that would help. I need to look up a prophecy."_

_She didn't want to give her sister any more information that that. Involving her, the Slayers, or any of her former friends would just complicate matters. _

_Dawn looked curious, but didn't ask, just pointed to a glass case near the back. "All the books about prophecies are in there," she said, then paused, shuffling her feet. "I know- I mean, well things aren't great between you and everybody right now. But if you need help, Buffy. I'm here, even if they're not."_

_Buffy's throat tightened, but she managed to squeeze out a "Thanks, Dawn." Her sister nodded and left the room. Buffy stared after her a minute, almost giving into the urge to just go hug her in case this was the last time-_

Okay, none of that. Research time,_ Buffy scolded herself._

_Three hours later, she finally found the prophecy. Then she had to look up the translation on the prophecy, much to her annoyance, which took another hour. What she found was that the yellow eyed demon had been telling the truth. It really was written that a vampire with a soul would play a major role in the apocalypse and then "shanshu", which after her digging and translating she found to mean "to live" and "to die" - a mixed bag that would have made no sense had the demon not already told her that it meant to become human. In that context it made all the sense in the world. _

_She slid all the books back into their places and crept out of the castle, resisting the urge to see her sister again. She still wasn't satisfied. Just because the prophecy part was true didn't mean that he was actually in Hell. She needed to find out what had happened at Wolfram and Hart. _

_Second stop - Los Angeles. _

_It was past eleven at night, but that didn't stop Buffy from walking right up to the big glass doors of Wolfram and Hart. She knew it was open all hours and she also knew that breaking in would be an effort in futility as much as it irked her to admit - the fact that the bad guys had better security than the good guys rubbed her the wrong way._

_The glass door opened easily for her and she marched right up to the front desk where a cute red head was waiting. _

"_How may I help you?"_

"_I need to speak with someone about a former employee of yours," Buffy said with a sweet smile, her mother's words about catching flies with honey, not vinegar, echoing in her head. _

"_I'd be happy to help you with that," the receptionist answered, her smile so unwavering that Buffy was almost sure she had to be a demon even though her senses weren't wigging out. "Which employee where you inquiring about?"_

"_Angel."_

_The receptionist cocked her head, "I'm sorry, but we don't and never have had an employee by the name of Angel."_

_Buffy's smile slid off. Who wanted to catch flies anyway, you should really just kill them and be done with it._

"_Listen, you little-"_

"_I'll take care of this Amanda," a British voice said from behind her._

_Buffy spun around to see a familiar face staring back at her, "Wesley…"_

"_This way please Miss Summers," he said briskly, spinning on his heal and moving toward the elevator. _

_She followed behind cautiously, stepping in and standing beside him as he hit the button for the 14th__ floor. As soon as the door closed she opened her mouth to begin her barrage of questioning, but a sharp look and a barely perceptible shake of his head stilled her tongue. _

_After exiting the elevator, he led her down a long corridor that looked like any other corporate office building - tan walls, grey commercial carpeting and flowery generic pictures on the walls. He turned and entered a door on the right and she followed him into a room that seemed overflowing with ancient books. A desk was barely visible under the stacks of tomes. He turned back to face her and leaned against it. _

"_Given the information in these books, this room is heavily enchanted. This is the only place in the building where our conversation can't be monitored but we'll have to make it quick. They may not have even a tenth of the power they had before, but they still run things in this building. They won't like me talking to a Slayer, that's for sure."_

_Wesley sure had changed a lot. The look in his eyes was cold and hard, gone was the smarmy weasel of a Watcher she'd known in high school. But then again, none of them were what they were back then…_

"_Fine, I'll get right to it then," she said with a shrug. "Where's Angel."_

"_Dead."_

_Even though she'd been expecting it, the words still hit her like a brick. She took a deep breath to steady herself, "How? When?"_

"_Less than a month. We went up against the Senior Partners and crippled Wolfram and Hart. None of us made it out."_

_His choice of words baffled her, "None of you except _you_, apparently."_

"_I'm dead actually. Such things don't necessarily end your contract here," Wesley said, his tone nothing more than resigned._

"_I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?" Buffy asked, the thought of being stuck here for eternity, especially after having seen what lay beyond, made her heart clench in sympathy for her former Watcher. _

"_No, Buffy. I was well aware of this clause when I signed on," he said, his face and words softening for the first time._

"_So, Angel's dead. What about this Shanshu thing?"_

_Wesley raised an eyebrow, "I didn't know you were aware of that. Since Angel never made it back from the final fight, I'd just assumed it was either hogwash or maybe pertaining to another vampire with a soul. We'd even wondered if it was referring to Spike but he didn't survive the final battle either."_

_Just when she thought she was getting her feet under her again after the revelation of Angel's demise, he threw this at her? "Spike? Spike was _here?_ How? He died in Sunnydale!"_

"_He did but he was brought back. Something to do with that amulet he was wearing. I'm surprised he didn't call you," Wesley said with a frown._

_Buffy was furious. He'd come back to life, or unlife, or whatever and hadn't even bothered to call her? She'd mourned him! And then he just went and died _again_? Bastard._

_She took another deep breath and then counted to ten. She didn't know how much longer they could talk, she needed to get to the point. There was just one problem…_

"_I don't know if I can trust you," she said bluntly._

"_You can't," he said immediately. "I'm theirs, signed and sealed. I can tell you what I know, but if they order me to do something, I have to do it. I'll try to help you if I can Buffy, but from this point on, you should always second guess me."_

_She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. While the honesty was refreshing, it was also off-putting. What was the point in asking him anything if she couldn't be sure if he'd tell her the truth? How did she know he wouldn't just tell them everything they talked about the moment she left. _

_She couldn't risk them knowing. It could ruin everything._

"_Then thanks for your time, Wesley," she said, moving toward the door._

"_Buffy," Wesley called out behind her. She turned to see him holding out a piece of paper. "This source might not be anymore trustworthy than I am, but maybe they can tell you what you need to know."_

_She took the paper and stuffed it in her pocket without looking at it. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something else but sighed and gave her a significant look, "Good luck. With whatever you do next."_

_She stared back at him, wanting to ask if he knew what she was planning. Wanting to know if that meant _they_ knew. But he wouldn't have spoken so guardedly if that were the case, she guessed. She nodded at him and left without another word. _

_She didn't look at the paper until she was a few blocks away. She scanned it in confusion - it seemed to be a set of instructions for something. Then it dawned on her what exactly she was looking at…_

_Next stop - a crossroads._

_The following night she stood where two dusty road met in the middle of nowhere, kicking the rest of the pile of dirt over the box she'd just planted in the center. She felt the arrival of the demon almost immediately. _

"_Well, well. A Slayer. Isn't _this_ a pleasant surprise," a tall brunette woman said as she slowly circled Buffy with a predatory grin. "What can I do for you this fine night?"_

"_I need to get into Hell."_

"_I can certainly do that for you. But usually that's the endgame in this little dance. You get something from me, you enjoy it and then you go to Hell," the demon said with a raised eyebrow, speaking as if she were talking to someone mentally deficient. _

"_I just need a ticket in. As is," Buffy replied, holding her hands out to emphasize what she meant. _

"_So, you want me to let you, the Slayer, into Hell, the Demon manufacturing plant, with that," it said with a raised eyebrow and a nod to the Scythe. "The Demon-Killermatic 2000? Do I look like I want to be tortured by Lucifer himself for the next two eternities?" _

"_So, is that a no, then?" _

"_Not happening, sweetie. Anything else?"_

"_Okay, how about a little trade," Buffy tried, trying to see if everything Azazel had told her was the truth. "Me for someone that's downstairs right now."_

"_That I can do. Who do you want out of the pit?"_

"_A former vampire named Angel."_

_But the demon was already shaking its head. "Why do you keep asking for things I can't give? First Slayer to visit the crossroads and I can't seal the deal."_

"_You can't get him out? Or you won't?"_

"_Can't. He's got a big fat No Deal sign above his pretty little head."_

"_That's all I needed then," Buffy said, before she rushed the demon. _

_This gave her the chance to test something out. The weighing of a demon death against a human life was a tough one for her - her instinct to kill anything evil warred with her need to protect the innocent. With these demons she was faced with a dilemma she hadn't had before. In the heat of a fight, where trapping and exorcism wasn't an option, did she kill the person to kill the demon? And she had no doubt the Scythe could do it, either. It's power hummed up her arm and told her so. A demon exorcised could come back again and again, continuing the chain of evil - so when logically weighed against the weight of one person's life, it seemed like an unfortunate but understandable trade. But Buffy still balked at the idea - it just wasn't in her to kill someone out of logic. _

_So on to experiment A._

_She pinned the demon beneath her and pressed the Scythe to its chest. It looked up at her questioningly, then laughed. "Can't kill me, little girl? Slayers think they're so-" It cut off abruptly and its eyes widened. It half coughed, half gagged and rolling mass of inky smoke dribbled out of its mouth. After a second of shock, it started bucking wildly, eyes wide with panic, but Buffy kept pressing the Scythe against it. More and more of the blackness was coughed up and soon it was coming out of her eyes, ears and nose as well, hitting the ground and sizzling like hot ash for a moment before disappearing. _

_After she was sure it was all out, she climbed off the woman and crouched beside her - she was breathing and her heart was beating. _

_Experiment A was a success._

_Final stop - New Mexico._

_She picked up the payphone outside the convenience store and started stuffing in quarters before dialing her sister's number. The sound of the voicemail picking up was both a huge relief and a disappointment. _

"_Dawn, it's Buffy. I need you to do me a favor. Look up everything you can find on the demon Azazel. Then I need you to call this number," Buffy said, rattling off the familiar digits.. "That'll get you a guy named Dean Winchester. Tell him everything you find out. I know things between us aren' the greatest, but this is really important. And… I love you Dawnie."_

_That done, she climbed back in the car and hit the road again. She'd felt the tingle of Azazel's presence almost as soon as she started looking for him and she knew he was purposely making himself available for her to find. She caught up to him at a closed down gas station along an empty stretch of highway, surrounded by flat scrubby land under the blazing sun. It was so hot that it was almost a physical weight on her shoulders when she got out of the car, pushing down on her shoulders and stealing her breath away._

Better get used to it. This is nothing compared to where you're headed,_ a little voice in her head sneered. _

_She pushed that thought out of her mind. She couldn't think about that. If she did, she was worried her resolve would crumble under her terror. _

_The little bell above the door rang as she stepped in. The shelves were all still there, just empty of all their wares, the dingy tile floor covered in a layer of dust and grime and spotted with the tracks of some adventurous animal that had found its way inside. From the smell, it hadn't found its way back out again._

_Azazel sat on the counter to her left where the cashier used to be, feet swinging and rebounding loudly against the front, a steady rhythm that seemed obscenely loud in the dead silence of the building. _

"_Satisfied?" He asked, looking at her questioningly._

"_Say I am. That I think you're telling the truth. What happens when I get down there?" She asked, forcing her voice not to shake._

"_Find him, release him."_

"_That's it?"_

"_That's it."_

"_Somehow I don't think it'll be as easy as you're making it out to be."_

"_It's Hell, of course it won't by easy. But that," he said with a nod to the Scythe. "Will be your key. Freedom from the pit will be granted by it. Just cut his bonds and free him."_

"_How do I know you're not lying to me?" She asked, knowing that it was stupid - if he was lying before, why would he tell her the truth now. She wasn't sure what would be worse, getting there and finding out she'd been lied to or staying here and finding out he'd been telling the truth._

"_Because I don't need to. Have I lied to you yet?" He asked, stopping his childish leg swinging. The silence that surrounded them was so complete that she almost wished he'd start again. _

"_Why are you doing this?"_

"_Because I want you and you're little weapon far away from here," he said without hesitation, surprising Buffy with his candor._

"_Why do you want me out of the way? What are you up to?"_

"_Evil stuff. You really think I'll let you in on the details?" He asked with a smirk. _

_The fact that he had some agenda worried her. But she'd clued in Dawn, and she'd tell Dean. They'd be ready for whatever he was planning._

"_So the way I understand it, you have to hold to the terms of the deal - you violate the terms and it's void, right?" Buffy asked, remembering the info on demon deals Wesley'd given her. _

"_That's right," Azazel said, hopping off the counter and watching her closely. "Are you ready to make that deal?"_

_She stared into his yellow eyes, her palms sweating and her heart pounding. She didn't think she'd ever been so scared. She suddenly wished she'd called Dean, just to hear his voice one more time. She took a deep breath and nodded. _

"_I let you walk out of here and in exchange you send me to Hell, whole and with the Scythe. You guarantee that Angel is there and that I can free him."_

_The smile that curled the lips of the man the demon was wearing was nothing short of terrifying. _

"_Deal."_

_He was in front of her before she could blink, his lips on hers. _

_He tasted like ash. _

_Then there was darkness and screaming._

_xxxxx_

_Azazel stood staring at the blackened spot the Slayer had been and laughed. He'd been worried when she first found him Massachusetts, and her ability to track him had been very troublesome. But after a little bit of legwork by his wonderfully loyal children, he'd had all the information he needed to get that pesky girl just where he wanted her - out of his way. That Scythe of hers had the potential to ruin everything._

_A young woman with died red hair and piercing stepped out of the back room and sauntered over to him._

"_I can't believe she fell for that," she said with a laugh. "Like she could save someone from there."_

"_Actually, I wasn't lying," he said, looking up at her with a slow smile. "But, its not going to play out like she's hoping."_

_The girl looked like she wanted to ask more, but let it drop with a shrug._

"_She called someone."_

"_I know, she's such a pain," he said almost fondly. "Care for a little trip to Scotland?"_

"_Sounds fun. What about you?"_

"_I have a call to make, then it's back to the grindstone," he said with a mock sigh. "That girl put me very behind in my work."_

"_Well, I'm off then. I'll check in when I get back."_

"_Oh, and sweetie, make sure you cover your tracks. We don't need the rest of those little pests showing up here."_

"_Of course, father," she said then opened her mouth, a large stream of smoke bursting out and disappearing into the vent._

_Walking over to the counter, he pulled out a silver goblet and a knife from behind it. Then, raising the knife in one hand and holding the cup in the other, he slit his own throat without blinking. His meat suit's blood filling the goblet in front of him. After giving it a stir and a few chanted words he waited._

"_I thought I'd give you a little warning. I just sent a Slayer your way. She's coming for that special project you've been working on."_

_..._

"_No, not just the soul. The whole package."_

_..._

"_Well, I'm telling you now. And watch out for that weapon she's got. Nasty piece of work there. Make sure not to touch it."_

_..._

"_Then I suggest you get it away from her _without_ touching it."_

_..._

"_That's not very nice. You're testy today. You know what, she'd just _filled_ with righteousness, how set is that prophecy in it being a man that spills blood?"_

_..._

"_Yeah, you're probably right. That's a shame…"_

_..._

"_You say that now, but I have no doubt you'll be calling and thanking me once you see how beautiful she is while you break her. Mark my words, Alastair, you'll have fun with this one."_


	21. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Author's Note**: I am so, so, so sorry about how late this is. I've been out of town and honestly, it's a miracle that I've gotten it written at all. But I got home last night and hopefully will get back on my regular updating schedule now. Also, next chapter will not be an interlude in an attempt to make up for my lateness.

**Chapter Eleven**

"Actually, maybe not the best time to bring this up… but yes, I did," her voice said from behind him as she tugged her wrist firmly from his grip.

The words were so unexpected and the loss of the feel of her skin so sharp that Dean forgot about keeping an eye on his father and whipped around. The slight breeze tugged at her blond hair as she stared up at him, the lighting casting her in harsh shadows. Standing this close, he could see all the little details that had eluded him before. The dark sweeping circles under eyes that were a darker green than he remembered, how the childish roundness to her face had had given way to adult angles, the fading black eye and bruising that swept up past her cheekbone and was hidden by silky hair, the flat line of her mouth - pouted lips pulled tense and jaw clenched, the fine lines around her eyes from years stress and pain

The disappointment hit him then. This wasn't how their reunion was supposed to be. The one time they'd been face to face, he'd barely gotten a glimpse of a smile from her. All the times he'd thought of seeing her again, that was the thing he'd wanted to see the most. Her smile. To hear her laugh in person instead of over hundreds of miles through a phone line. Not this. Not bruises and pain and secrets.

And she'd made a deal. This was so… _wrong._

"Christo," he said, his voice almost a whisper as he watched her closely in the glare of the headlights.

Her eyes didn't change but she did flinch, "You think I'm a demon…"

"I don't know what to think," he said warily. "The Buffy I know would never do this."

Confusion flittered across her face briefly, delicate brows furrowing over tired eyes. Then it was gone, and she was once again staring at him blankly. "It's been a long time. I'm not the Buffy you knew anymore."

"But after all we've- he's my _dad_, Buffy…"

Again there was a glimpse of confusion. "Yeah. I got that, Dean. But we have business that doesn't concern you." She stepped sideways, her gaze sliding past his own to lay on his father. "Winchester, we need to talk."

"Nothing to talk about, girl. I'm not going anywhere with you," John said, his voice hard and cold. "Now get the hell away from my son."

"I don't know what your damage is with me, but get over it. We don't have time. The longer I'm here the longer all of you are in danger."

"Are you threatening my family," dad asked, and the cocking of the colt snapped Dean out of his stupor. Something was wrong here…

"That's not what she said, dad," it was Sam that spoke up, his face thoughtful as he pulled himself from the ground where John had obviously laid him out.

"As long as I'm here, there's a threat. So let's get a move on here. You," she said , nodding at dad, "need to come with me." Then she paused, really getting a look at Sam. "You… aren't you that guy from the sewer?"

Sam's serious look morphed into embarrassment and he rubbed the back of his neck, "Uh… yeah. That was me."

"That's Sam," Dean said, taking the opportunity to take a step closer to her while her attention was elsewhere.

"Sam? As in little brother Sammy?" She asked in surprise, eyeing Sam up and down. "Not exactly what I was picturing when you described your geeky little brother, Dean."

The appreciative tone and look she was casting Sam didn't sit well with Dean, but before he could say anything, she continued. "Wait, you said you were the only hunter on that case," she said her eyes narrowing.

"I was," Sam quickly assured her, nodding almost frantically. It seemed like she made him nervous and under normal circumstances, Dean would have found it funny, but these were far from normal circumstances.

"You let Sammy go on a hunt by himself," she asked, turning to Dean with raised eyebrows.

"And you saw how that worked out," he muttered, casting a dark look at his brother. Then he turned the look on her, "I would have been there if I hadn't been in Cleveland looking for _you_."

Buffy blinked up at him, "Me? You were looking for me?"

"Of course I was looking for you! I've been looking for you for over a year," he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "That's what you do when someone you care about goes missing."

"A year…"

"Yes, Buffy, a year. _More_ than a year. You know, the last time we talked? After Sunnydale took a trip to the center of the earth?" He said sarcastically. But seeing the genuinely puzzled look on her face he paused. "You _do_ remember that, right? Are you sure you're not possessed?"

And just like that she shut down again and turned back to his father. "We've stood around here long enough. Now I'm going to get what I came for."

John pointed the gun right at her, "You're welcome to try."

Dean wasn't sure what to do, confusion and doubt were fighting a battle in his head, but one thing he did know was that he wasn't going to let them kill each other. Before he could get between them though, Sam was there.

"Wait, just wait," he said holding up his hands at them. "Buffy, what exactly did you come here for?"

"She came here to take me to Hell, Sam. We've already established that. Now get the hell out of the way," dad growled.

But Dean's eyes were on Buffy and he saw the way her face paled and how her eyes widened. "Hell? I'm not here to take you to Hell. What're you talking about?"

Sam, Dean noticed, couldn't resist giving his shocked father a triumphant look before he turned back to Buffy. "He thinks you made a deal with a demon - him in Hell in exchange for getting someone else out."

"What? No!" Then she whirled on Dean with wide eyes, "You think I'd send your dad to Hell? Seriously?"

"No, I- I didn't, but there were- and with the Hellhounds and- You're the one that said you made a deal!" Dean sputtered out, not liking the accusing look she was throwing at him or the feeling of guilt that washed over him for having even a sliver of doubt.

"So what is it exactly that you want from our dad?" Sam asked, the voice of reason in what was fast becoming an episode of Jerry Springer - The Hunter and Slayer Special.

Buffy stared at Dean a second longer before turning her attention back to Sam, "I need something to get these Hellhounds off my tail. I heard that your dad had what I was looking for. And you," she said, homing in on John, who Dean noticed had lowered the colt and was looking a little deflated. "You were _running_ from me! I knew no man could be that hard to track down without purposely being difficult, but I thought I was just being paranoia girl. _Why_ would you think I wanted you in Hell?"

"The yellow eyed demon told him," Sam said and Dean swore he could see glee in his brother's face, like a little kid getting his sibling in trouble for doing something stupid.

"Oh, well of course, because Ass Hazel is just a fountain of truthiness," Buffy said with an eye roll before her gaze got thoughtful and she cocked her head to the side. "Damn if he isn't resourceful though…"

"How so?" Dean asked drawing her attention back to him.

"He doubled my chances of dying. If the Hellhounds didn't take me out, he set it up so your dad would finish me off," she said, her lack of expression or concern over this detail was disconcerting for Dean.

"How convenient of you to leave out why the Hellhounds are after you in the first place," John said, watching Buffy with narrowed eyes. Maybe he still just didn't trust her. Or maybe he didn't like the fact he was played by the demon and wanted to bring someone else down with him. "Let me guess - you made a deal and now you don't want like the consequences. Reaped the benefits but don't want to pay the price."

Buffy's face went dead white and it seemed like every creature in the forest suddenly fell silent. "I paid," she hissed out, taking slow deliberate steps toward John, her feet stirring up the vampire dust. Her hand was clenched hard around the Scythe and there was a slight tremble to it. "I paid more than you can possible imagine. Far more than was asked for and more than I had to give. Don't you _dare_ stand there acting like you know what the _fuck_ you're talking about."

Dean had never heard Buffy like this before, there was something raw and dark about her voice and her choice of words sent a chill through him. Just what exactly had happened since the last time he'd talked to her? There wasn't time to think on that right then though, her body was tensed and violence was in the air. Dean moved before she could pounce on his startled father, stepping up behind her and grabbing her upper arms to stop her forward movement.

He wasn't expecting her reaction.

She spun around quicker than he could blink, green eyes wide and wild with something he couldn't quite place and didn't have time to before her fist was flying at his face. He braced himself for a broken jaw - he knew the damage Slayer strength could inflict (he even shut his eyes like a freakin' girl, she should give him two for flinching). But the blow never landed. Peaking an eye open, he saw her deceptively small fist a mere inch from his face. Looking past it to her, he could see her horrified look. Suddenly a look of pain flashed across her features and she took a few steps back, her hand holding the Scythe shifted it oddly in her grip.

"Sorry," she said quietly, her eyes not meeting his. "I don't- you shouldn't come up behind me like that."

"Yeah… no problem," Dean replied weakly. He knew Buffy'd always been cautious, same as him - they'd joked many times over their borderline paranoia. But this… this was something different.

"So, what exactly is it you're looking for?" Sam asked, drawing him from his thoughts and getting them back on track.

"An amulet or talisman. It'll be about this big," she said, tucking the Scythe under her arm and meeting her index fingers and thumbs on each hand to make a circle about four or five inches in diameter. In the harsh illumination of the headlights he could see the skin of her palm was bright red and painful looking. "And it'll have three animals on it - a wolf, a ram, and a hart, which I'm told is just a deer."

"Wolfram and Hart…" Dean muttered darkly, putting the question of her injured hand to the back of his mind.

Buffy nodded, "These are their special brand of Hellhounds. The only way to call them off is a ritual. But the ritual is in series of books. Books that can't be opened without that amulet."

"Buffy, what the hell is going on?" Dean asked, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"Can we not do this right now?" Buffy asked, suddenly looking years older and utterly exhausted. "The hounds'll only be gone for another few hours before they track me down again."

A million and one questions were buzzing in Dean's head - Why was Wolfram and Hart after her? What happened with this mysterious deal? Why hadn't she called him?- just to name a few, but the mention of those _things_ coming after her again and the look on her face stilled his curiosity and replaced it with dread. How long had she been doing this? Being chased by Hellhounds while she chased John, only getting a "few hours" of reprieve at a time?

"Dad, you have this amulet thing she's talking about?" Sam asked.

John still looked wary, but he tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants with a sigh. "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Came across it late last year. Some frat guys at Harvard had in ritual circle - were sacrificing babies…"

They all mentally cringed at the imagery.

"Yep, that sounds pretty Wolfram and Hart-y," Buffy said, her lip curled in disgust. "Probably hoping to secure an internship. So where is it?"

"A storage facility in Buffalo."

Buffy sighed and her jaw clenched - Buffalo was a good 24 hour drive from there.

"I can go get the key. You should take her to Bobby's, he has a kind of panic room that blocks anything supernatural. She'll be safe there," John said, his eyes on Dean.

What was this? Was he serious? It was a good idea, but Dean wasn't sure if his father was being sincere. He missed the days when he'd trusted the man implicitly.

"No way," Buffy said vehemently. "With as long as it took me to track you down, you think I'll just let you wander off?"

"I'll go with him," Sam offered. "You can go with Dean and I'll go with dad. I'll make sure you get the amulet."

Dean could have hugged his brother right then, good old "look at me, I'm gigantic but so innocent and cute, I couldn't tell a lie to save my life" Sammy to the rescue. His earnest eyes were boring fluffy little holes in Buffy and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"It won't matter," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe this room will block my exact location, but they'll still track me to there."

"Then we'll take care of them," Dean said with a shrug. "We gank 'em-"

"NO!" Buffy said, spinning on Dean. "No matter what happens you _don't_ engage them. Any of you. They're only after me and they'll leave anyone else alone unless they interfere."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "You actually think I'm just go-"

"That's what happened to Frank," Sam interrupted, his voice soft in understanding.

"Frank?" Buffy asked.

"The guy _you_ decapitated in Montana? Ring a bell or are there too many to remember?" John asked, his hand sliding back toward the colt again. "Way I hear it, you were the one dealing out his death, not the hounds."

"You were saving him," Sam said, ignoring dad and still focused on Buffy as he picked apart the truth. "Any one killed by them would go to hell, right? He saw them, attacked them and they went after him. You couldn't save his life, but you saved his soul."

"I thought I was far enough out that there wouldn't be any trouble," Buffy said, her face twisted with regret. "By the time I got there- It's all I could do."

Dean felt sick, knowing how'd he'd feel if he were put in that position. He wanted to ask about Gordon but decided now wasn't the time - not only did he not want to bring up anything else that would distress her, but he didn't know if his father knew about the other death and didn't want to throw fuel on the fire.

"All the more reason for you to go to Bobby's," his dad broke in. His hand had drifted away from the colt again, and he was actually wearing a sympathetic face. If there was anything John Winchester understood, it was self blame and that you couldn't save everybody. "His place is out of the city, lots of room for you to hack and slash those bastards without anyone getting in the way."

The last part was directed at Dean, he knew. The weight of his father's eyes settling on him, his meaning clear - stay out of it. Dean slid his gaze away, making no promises. He understood that his father and Buffy didn't want him in what they deemed to be unnecessary danger, but he'd be damned if he'd just stand by and let Buffy face those things alone.

Buffy was busy eyeing Sam, as if she could determine his trustworthiness by look alone - which if that were the case then Sam was more trustworthy than Mother Theresa. Finally her shoulders slumped in defeat, "Fine."

John moved toward his truck, "Come on then, I'll take you two to the Impala."

"I need my car, the books are in there."

"The Bitchmongermobile?" Dean asked, unable to help himself.

Her lip curled, "You heard about that, huh? Some vamp in Jersey had it. Staked him and took it."

"You realize that's probably a victims car, right? The cops'll connect you to the murder if they see you driving it," John said.

"No, really?" Buffy asked, giving her best blond impersonation. "That never occurred to me."

Instead of looking pissed like Dean expected him to, John just looked amused as he climbed into the truck. The other three had a moment of awkwardness as they realized they'd all have to pile in the cab. Buffy rolled her eyes and moved to get in first, but Dean blocked her way.

"Uh-uh, you too get into a slap fight while he's trying to drive and we're all road kill. That goes for you too Samantha," he said with a smirk before sliding in next to his father. He'd hoped Buffy would get in after him, some part of him wanting to keep her close - pressed against his side. But she motioned for Sam and then climbed in after him. Saying it was a tight fit would be an extreme understatement. Sam was a mess of squirming and apologizing as he tried not to crush Buffy next to the door.

"Don't worry, Sammy. Slayers are like that Stretch Armstrong thing you used to have, you squish 'em all up and bend 'em around and they just pop right back to their original size in no time," Dean said flashing a leer at Buffy.

"Sam, lean forward, please," Buffy said, her voice calm and peaceful. Sam obliged and Dean felt a small but strong hand smack the back of his head. The things he did to lighten everyone up - he was such a martyr.

John ignored their banter and started the truck, the familiar smell of gun oil and Old Spice Dean remembered wafted off the man next to him. They might not see eye to eye on Buffy, but damn if he hadn't missed the man. Dean felt a sudden wash of contentment . Things were fucked, for sure, but he had his three most important people within arms reach for the first time ever.

The rumble of the big truck filled the cab and Bad Company spilled out of the speakers. Sam snorted and glancing around, Dean even caught a ghost of a grin from Buffy and dad. The contentment got a little stronger and for the first time in a long time, Dean thought things might all work out.

They pulled up next to the Impala where they'd left her parked down the road less than a minute later and Buffy slid out, followed by Sam and Dean. Seeing the way Buffy was eyeing John as if he were about to gas it now that he was alone, Sam quickly climbed back in. Buffy moved to follow him, but Dean placed himself in her way (definitely not grabbing her again).

"I'll take her to her car, you two get going."

Both John and Sam eyed him for a moment and Dean was suddenly struck by all their similarities. That's why those two were always at each others throats, he knew. He just hoped they could keep from tearing each other apart long enough to get the job done. If he hadn't wanted a chance to talk to Buffy alone so badly he would have insisted that he go with John and Sam go with her.

"Be careful," Sam said, his eyes displaying concern as his eyes shifted from Dean to Buffy, making it unclear whether he was warning Dean to be careful _of_ Buffy or if he was talking to both of them

"Watch your back, son," dad said with a nod. Then his eyes narrowed and focused on Buffy, completely lacking the subtlety that Sam had shown. "Anything happens to him, there'll be nowhere you can hide from me."

"Dad!" Dean burst out, hating that he sounded like the ten year old John was treating him like.

Sam snickered and slammed the door and the big dark truck rumbled off into the dark.

And then they were alone.


	22. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter 12**

Without the aid of the headlights, the darkness surrounding the two of them was complete as they stood next to the Impala on the deserted stretch of tree lined highway. Dean could barely make out Buffy's face as she stood a few feet from him, a light vapor filling the space between them as their warm breath hit the cool night air. He'd wanted so long to have her to himself but now that the time had come, he wasn't sure where to begin. So he just blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Why didn't you call me?" It seemed insignificant and selfish considering all that was going on, but it was the thing that was gnawing at him the most.

"Dean…" she said with a sigh. He thought for a second that she was going to brush him off again, but she just leaned up against the Impala and stared out at the dark tree line. "There was no way I was getting you involved. After what I just told you about the Hellhounds? You wouldn't be able to stay out of it and I didn't want to put you in that position."

"There's more to it than that, Buffy. The hounds are after you because of some deal, right? What about before you made it? What's been going on since I talked to you last?"

"Can we at least be moving while you play at the third degree?" Buffy asked, motioning to the Impala with her head.

Reluctant to put off getting answers but agreeing that it wasn't smart to hang out there, Dean nodded and pulled open the driver's door while Buffy pushed off the fender with a hip and headed to the passenger side. She slid in moments after him and he couldn't help but to notice how good she looked in there - at home, like she was meant to be in that seat. And she seemed to feel the same way - the tension that was in her shoulders since she'd shown up seemed to lessen and a small smile tipped her lips as she looked around, running her hand over the seat and then the dash in front of her.

"It stinks in here," she said with a small laugh.

That laugh, airy and barely audible, had him distracted for a second. Then he frowned as the words registered.

"What are you talking about? My baby doesn't _stink_," he said in an offended tone. Then he raised a thoughtful eyebrow, "Well, I guess it might over there… Sam had burrito's for lunch. Kid's gas has no end."

Buffy pulled a disgusted face but he could still see the amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth. He started the car with a loud growl and AC/DC poured out of the speakers. Buffy rolled down the window as Dean pulled onto the road. He looked over to ask her where he was supposed to be going, but was stopped by the look of her - eyes closed and wind blowing in her hair as Thunderstruck wailed around them. It was one of _those_ moments - the ones that you want to etch into your memory and pull out when everything goes to hell, to remind yourself that there really are good things in the world.

She looked over at him then, her tired eyes a little lighter. "You know what song was playing in the Camaro when I got it from that vamp? If You Want Blood."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, that's not obvious or anything. Talk about playing to the stereotype, that could be the vampire anthem."

The asphalt hummed away beneath them and Buffy gave a few hand gestures to keep him on the right track, but other than that and AC/DC, it was quiet and still between them. He knew he should be questioning her, but he just didn't have it in him to ruin the moment just yet.

It only took a few minutes to get to where she'd parked her car on an overgrown path that branched off the main road to the right. Dean pulled the Impala over and parked it on the shoulder at the entrance and turned off the engine. Silence settled in around them, but neither moved for a minute. Both seeimingly basking in the rare moment of peace. Finally, with a world weary sigh, Buffy pushed her door open and climbed out.

She was already walking back into the deeper shadows by the time Dean had caught up with her. The car seemed to appear from nowhere, its sleek black body camouflaged perfectly on the shadowy path, its curves barely lit by the moonlight filtering down through the leaves.

"This car… is fucking awesome," Dean said, his eyes riveted to the sleek muscle car. Then, realizing what he'd just said, snapped his head back around in the direction of the Impala. "But not as awesome as you, baby."

Buffy ignored him and went around to the trunk, popping it open and bathing the rear of the car in a pale yellow glow from the trunk light.

"So these are supposed to tell us how to get the Hellhounds off your ass?" Dean asked as he stepped up beside her, looking at the old tomes laid out on the trunk. They were a reddish brown that reminded him of dried blood and the covers displayed varying disturbing images of carnage all centered around a central figure - either the wolf, the ram, or the hart. "How reliable is the source you got that bit of info from?"

"Not even a little bit," she said flatly. At his questioning look, she went on. "It was from Wesley. When I- there was a messenger. A letter from him told me where to find the books and about the key and how he thought your dad was the one that had it last."

"I know you and Wesley didn't have a nice fluffy Slayer/Watcher bond, but do you really think he'd lie to you about something this important?"

"No, not old Wesley. But new Wesley happens to be a ghost enslaved to Wolfram and Hart. So, no, not feeling real trusty toward him."

"Faith said they'd had some big battle over there - she guessed they'd all died."

"Faith? When did you talk to her?"

"When I was in Cleveland, looking for you."

"What's Faith doing in Cleveland? I would have figured her to be doing Mini-Slayer Mentoring up at Casa Backstabber.'

"Nah, she left not long after you. Said she was tired of the bull and wanted to get back to slaying. Set up camp at the Hellmouth up there. She wanted me to tell you that the two of you were 'five by five' in her book by the way. I think she wants to team up with you again."

Buffy snorted, "Because that went so well the last time."

"Yeah, I thought the same thing," Dean said with a chuckle. "You should call her at least. Dawn too. I know you guys had some kind of-"

"Dawn's dead," and just like that, the little bit of life and animation she'd gained back since she'd popped up earlier was gone. Her voice was flat, her eyes empty and her face expressionless. Dean's stomach dropped, both from the news and Buffy's reaction.

"Dawn's - What happened?"

"We need to go," Buffy said, reaching up for the trunk lid.

"How long are you going to keep this up? Keep running from me?" Dean asked in frustration, stepping in close to her and laying a hand on top of hers as it rested on the car. She snatched the limb away like she'd been burned her and turned her back to him. "Buffy… just stop. Talk to me."

"I messed up," she said, still not facing him. "I screwed everything up so bad. Dawn… Angel… and I can't fix any of it. They're both dead and I did it…" Shivers were working up and down her frame and he wasn't sure if it was the temperture or the subject matter. She took a deep breath and stilled as she turned back around to face him, her voice and face blank. "I found it. The demon that killed your mom. I tracked it down and I made a deal with it."

Dean froze, questions on Dawn and Angel and what she meant by "_I did_ _it_" dissipating. He already knew she'd made a deal, and he'd even suspected it was with the yellow eyed demon, but hearing it laid out was something different. "Let me get this straight," he said. His voice was calm, but anger was bubbling up from somewhere down deep. "You had it right there in front of you - the demon that _killed_ my mom - and you played Let's Make a Deal?"

Buffy's empty look cracked as she shut her eyes and shook her head, "Angel went up against Wolfram and Hart and ended up in Hell. I couldn't just leave him there, Dean. It was the only way. If killing it would have brought back your mom, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I swear. But it wouldn't. Making a deal with it _would_ give me a chance to save Angel though. So I did it, I agreed to let it go and in exchange it let me into Hell."

Dean stared at her as if she were speaking another language, "Wait, wait, wait. Your deal, what you got out of this agreement, was a trip to _Hell_? You _asked_ it to send you to _Hell_?"

Buffy's face shut down again and she turned to lean back against the car, "Yes. That's exactly what I did."

"For Angel," he asked, his voice furious and his hands clenching. "You let that sonofabitch go and went to Hell for that piece of shit vampire? What is it about him, Buffy? Huh? What the fuck did he do to inspire this kind of… blind loyalty?"

Buffy flinched away from him like she'd been physically struck, startling Dean into silence. She walked around to the side of the car where it was the darkest, her stride slow and stiff.

"If it's any consolation, I was wrong," she said from the darkness. "I screwed up. The things I've seen, the things I've _done_… Everything that's happened since then… I wish I'd killed it when I had the chance."

Her voice, a voice that he'd known every nuance of for years, sounded different than he'd ever heard it. Hollow and broken, filled with a kind of hopeless wistfulness that made his throat tighten. She'd been in Hell. Somehow that hadn't really sunk in yet. Buffy - sunny, bubbly, babbling, world saving Buffy - in Hell. What exactly had happened to her there? Did he even want to know? What about Dawn? And Angel? She'd said they were dead. What about -

A howl erupted in the distance, snapping him out of his thoughts and sending Buffy into a defensive crouch. She said it usually took them a few hours to come back, it couldn't have been that long yet, could it?

After a beat, Buffy straightened. "Just a wolf. But we need to get going anyway."

As much as he hated to stop when he was finally getting some answers, she was right. They couldn't just stand around here and talk, they needed to get moving. He wanted her safely tucked away in Bobby's special anti-evil room, or whatever the hell it was, as soon as possible.

"Leave the car, ride with me," Dean said, not finished with his questions and not wanting to let her out of his sight. When she didn't move, he decided to play a little dirty. "Just for while we're at Bobby's. I don't want to bring down any heat on him if someone connected this car to its murder victim owner."

Buffy shot him a disbelieving look before rolling her eyes and agreeing with an unenthusiastic, "Yeah, okay."

Dean gave an internal sigh of relief and collected the books from the trunk as Buffy grabbed her bag. Back at the Impala, Dean stashed the books in the back and Buffy tossed her duffle alongside them, keeping the Scythe with her as she slid into the passenger seat. Both back in the car and on the road again, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically. The serenity of before was gone, replaced with a uneasy tension.

"These Hellhounds, how fast are they?" Dean asked, eyeing the scenery whipping by outside.

"Well, they've never attacked while I've been driving, if that's what you're asking. But it never seems to take them very long to get wherever I am once I stop."

No wonder she looked so tired. "Fucking Wolfram and Hart is a pain in the ass," he growled lowly.

"Preaching to the choir."

The heater blew on them, comfortably warming the car and he could see Buffy's struggle to stay awake from the corner of his eye. "Why don't you get some sleep? You look like you could use it."

She shot him an unreadable look then turned away. "I'm okay."

Dean snorted but didn't argue. Not yet at least, he had a feeling her body would beat out her stubbornness. Ten minutes later he was proved right, Buffy was slumped against the door fast asleep.

He took the time to put in order the mess in his head. He still wanted details - what had happened since the last time they talked, specifics about that dick Azazel and how she'd been able to find him, more on that shitty deal he mangaged to talk her into, what had happened to Dawn and Angel, the details of her time in Hell… He looked over at her sleeping form again, a new suspicion forming in his mind. Was she not sleeping just because of the Hellhounds chasing her, or was there more too it. As if to prove his theory, Buffy's eyebrows knotted and she squirmed in her seat, her breath coming faster.

She snapped awake a second later with a choked gasp, wild eyes roaming the interior of the car before coming to rest on Dean. Sleepy panic gave way to clarity and she looked away quickly.

"How long?" Dean asked quietly. "How long were you in Hell?"

"Here, a little over nine months," she said quietly after a stretch of silence. "There, around ninety years."

Dean stared at her in shock, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. _Ninety years?_ He jerked his attention back to the road but that number just kept repeating itself in his mind - ninety years - almost a fucking _century._

"How'd you get out?"

"This is going to sound ridiculous," Buffy sighed. Then looking over at him, she answered, "It was you, Dean. You pulled me out."


	23. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter 13**

"It was you, Dean. You pulled me out."

Dean looked over at her in surprise. "Me? I think I'd remember taking on a rescue mission to Hell," he said. _Not that I wouldn't have if I'd known you were there_, he added silently.

"Then maybe it wasn't you. But it looked like you, sounded like you," she said with a shrug. "I wondered when you said you hadn't talked to me in over a year…"

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought maybe you didn't want anything to do with me after that. You didn't exactly see me at my best…"

"You thought I- What the fuck, Buffy? There's nothing you could do-"

"You don't know. Or you don't remember," she said darkly.

"So fill me in."

"Things didn't go like I planned," she said, eyes trained on the road in front of them. "I was stupid to take the demon's words at face value. Things went… bad. And I couldn't get out."

"Damn it, Buffy. Will you stop being so fucking vague?"

"Why don't you stop being so nosey," she snapped back. "You want every detail? About the blood and the chains and the smell of rotting meat?"

That struck a memory - the smell that seemed to crawl down your throat and choke you, the unending chains crisscrossing the darkness, the screams - "Jesus Christ, I _was_ there…"

Her eyes shot to his and he remembered them, empty and hopeless as she stared up at him, blood smeared and broken as he yelled for her, stretching his hand out for her, begging her…

"I thought it was a dream," he whispered, his eyes ticking back to the road. Even now, the memories were hazy and full of gaps, nonsequential flashes and disconnected muted voices.

"So… it was you?"

"Yeah, yeah I guess it was," Dean said.

He was going to have to sit down soon and just take a minute to absorb everything that he'd seen and heard in the last couple hours. All of it was just kind of skittering around in his brain right now like rocks skipping across a lake unendingly, refusing to sink.

"I was trying to get a bead on you in New Orleans, there was this hoodoo guy... I thought I was drugged and just had some fucked up dreams..."

"Well, don't think on it too hard," Buffy said. "The less you remember, the better."

"How's that even possible?" Dean asked, his face scrunched up in disbelief. He'd been to freaking _Hell_… "I mean, how's some hack hoodoo priest that specializes in zombies manage to actually get me into Hell?"

"From what I've heard, nothing short of divine intervention can pull someone from there," Buffy said with a shrug.

Dean snorted, "Nothing _divine_ about that crazy zombie making bastard. I, on the other hand, have been called divine many-"

"Oh god," Buffy said with an eye roll at Dean's leer and puffed up ego.

"See what I mean? It's like women can't help but to call me 'god'," he said with a grin. Buffy just shot him a blank look and shook her head, so Dean went on in a more serious tone. "So, what? I was, like, touched by an angel or something?"

While most of Dean didn't believe there was any such things as angels, he also knew that Buffy had been in Heaven, Hell was real, and he saw demons all the time. So it wasn't that big of a leap to say that angels could also exist. And if they were going to step up to bat for anyone, it would be Buffy Summers.

"No idea," Buffy said. "Why haven't you been with your dad?"

"What- I think there are more important issues going on Buffy."

"You get to ask questions, so do I," she said, crossing her arms and giving him what he was sure she would dub "resolve face".

They had a long drive ahead of them, and he was sure she wouldn't put up with him just constantly peppering her with questions if he wouldn't answer any himself, so he told her. But once he started, he found it hard to stop - he explained how he'd been looking for her and started taking separate cases, how his dad had taken the chance to bail, he told her that part of him knew what the old man was up to and understood his reasons but how it pissed him off all the same. As he was telling her about going to get Sam, he realized how much he'd missed talking to her. All these things that had happened, big and small, he'd wanted someone to hash them out with. He'd missed this freedom to talk about anything without boundaries or roles.

She was quieter than she had been during those years over the phone, her smartass comments cut down to a bare minimum and her laughter gone, but her insight was as intact as ever. After a while he got the conversation turned around and he started hearing about what had happened since Sunnydale. The hours ticked by as Buffy told him about the fight with Dawn, that last meeting with the Scoobys, and her travels. Dean occasionally interrupting to curse her friends in creative (and disgusting, according to Buffy) ways or to get details on certain demons she'd faced - the hunter in him amazed at the variety they had overseas.

The sun was warming the car with bright morning light when he noticed that the gas gage was hovering just above empty. And his girl did not fuck around with fuel. When she was empty, she was "I'm going to strand your neglectful ass on the side of the road" empty. Sometimes she was a high maintenance chick, but she was worth it. Dean glanced out the windows again, taking in the flat plains of northern Nebraska and looking for anything that could be following them. Buffy had finally drifted off to sleep again less than half an hour ago and he really didn't want to wake her. She'd said the Hellhounds never took long to catch up once she stopped, he wondered if he'd have enough time to get gas before they struck. Seeing the sign for an upcoming gas station, he decided to risk it. He had his gun and two knives on him after all, he could take out a Hellhound no problem, no matter how twitchy Buffy was about it. Who cared if they started tracking him too? He was going to be with her until this ritual thing got worked out anyway, so it wouldn't really make a difference.

Feeling confident in his reasoning and his chances against a Hellhound, Dean pulled in to a tiny rundown station and went about the quickest gas pumping job in the history of man. At least that was his intention. He and Impala played their parts perfectly, working together quickly and smoothly as he slid out, unscrewed the cap and started fueling. Unfortunately, the ancient gas pump wasn't in on the rush and the gallons barely trickled into the cars large tank. Eventually, he just gave up on the idea of a full tank and decided to stop at enough to get them to Bobby's. Glancing at the blond head pressed against the passenger side window, he had a moment of indecision. The old station didn't have a pay at the pump option, so he'd have to go in to pay. Or he could just drive off… But if they somehow got some Podunk town cop on their ass before they reached Bobby's that could be a problem. Rolling his eyes, he headed for the tiny store, pulling his wallet out and glancing back at the car every few strides as he went.

He was in and out in little more than a minute, his eyes never off the car for more than fifteen seconds. Yet when he got back out there, she was still gone.

"You've gotta be fucking _kidding_ me," Dean growled out, fighting down the panic that was scratching in his gut.

His eyes scoured the dusty ground around the Impala for any sign of where she might have gone, but he didn't get far in his investigating. The nearby sound of a howl told him all he needed to know. He broke into a dead run toward the south, gun in hand and dust whipping up around his boots. He didn't hear anything else, only the pounding of his own feet and heart, but he could tell she'd come this way by the snapped braches, some still swinging slightly in her wake.

He burst through an overgrown section of trees and brush and into a clearing beyond. The sight took his breath away. Buffy against three Hellhounds. And damn it if she wasn't amazing, taking down two of them in quick succession. Dodging and turning, slicing and stabbing, blond hair flying around her as the sun glinted of the Scythe. There was a casual grace to the way she moved that was lacking when he'd seen her fight in L.A. all those years ago. Then it was quick and brutal, now it was sleek and flowing. The years had honed her skill to perfection.

Reminding himself harshly that this wasn't a spectator sport, Dean snapped his gun up and yelled "Down!" as the last Hellhound leapt for her. Buffy almost dropped automatically at the shouted warning, but at the last second she looked toward Dean and her eyes widened before she actually _shoved_ the hound out of the way just as he pulled the trigger.

Shock kept him rooted to the spot, gun still raised as he saw her jerk and stumble. The Hellhound, sensing its prey was vulnerable, went for her again. Dean roused himself from this stunning display of idiocy and yelled for her to move, because, _of course_, she was right in his shot again, blocking him from his target. But she, _of course_, ignored him and switched the Scythe to her left hand, swinging it just as the hound was on her and catching it in the chest. It hit the ground inches in front of her and didn't move again.

Dean was next to her without even really knowing how he got there. Grabbing at her and looking at the bloody wound in her shoulder and her blood drenched arm.

"What the hell were you thinking? Why didn't you drop?" He gritted out through clenched teeth as he pulled his button down shirt off, leaving him only in his tan henley. At least it went all the way through, digging a bullet out of Buffy was not something he wanted to experience.

"They'd be after you too if you'd hit it!" She said back, her voice just as furious as his. She muttered a low curse as he tied the shirt tightly around the wound before continuing. "How many times do I have to say that?"

"I don't need you protecting me," he said, his voice low and dangerous as he ducked his head and practically hissed it right into her face. He couldn't remember the last time he was so pissed off. At her for doing something so stupid, for feeling like she had to protect him and at himself for not realizing she'd do such a thing, for taking that shot before he was sure she'd drop. Dammit, he'd fucking _shot_ her!

Buffy wasn't intimidated in the slightest though and narrowed her eyes and shouted right in his face, "That's my line!" Then shoved him hard with both hands in a fit of exasperation before realizing that wasn't such a good idea. She snatched her right arm back, cradling it against her chest with a hiss. He stepped forward, his anger draining at the sight of her in pain. But hers just seemed to sharpen and she pressed on. "I don't need you playing hero-guy, alright? And what the hell was up with you just leaving me sleeping in the car? Do you know what those things would have done to your precious Impala if I hadn't woken up?"

"I had you and the car covered, dammit. I still don't know how you got out without me seeing you. Some kind of freaky Slayer Houdini act."

"Oh, you had the car and me covered?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "What? Were you going to shoot it while you were pumping gas?"

Dean opened his mouth to say, yes, that was exactly what he was going to do, but realized at the last second what an extraordinarily _bad_ idea that would have been and managed to keep from blurting it out. His answer must have shown on his face though because her mouth fell open in shock.

"Great idea, Dean. Lets use firearms while around explodey liquids," she exclaimed throwing up her arms and marching past him back toward the station, mumbling furiously as she went. "Freakin' Winchesters… The dad tries to shoot me, the son almost blows me up then actually _does_ shoot me… Screw both of you, I'm sticking with Sam from now on…"

Her voice faded as she disappeared into the shrubbery and Dean took the moment to give into his frustration, cursing and stomping his foot like a toddler. She was _infuriating_. She was going to drive him insane before this was all done with, he knew it. He took a deep breath and counted to ten before starting after her, his longer strides catching him up quickly.

"We should take care of that when we get back to the car," he said as he fell in step beside her, gesturing to her shoulder. The sight of it still made him cringe.

"Your shirt's doing fine stopping the bleeding. That's all that matters. Once it stops bleeding it'll start to heal on its own."

"So… you're just going to leave it like that?" He asked, not liking that idea at all. "It could get infected or-"

"When did you become such a mother hen?" She asked with a raised eyebrow and smirk that shut him up immediately. He knew she had super Slayer healing, who was he to question it? He didn't have anything like that and he'd left bloody open wounds without treatment tons of times before. Still, the thought of her bleeding, in pain, bothered him. He kept his mouth shut about it though, just stewing quietly beside her as they approached the Impala.

"Wait," he said, going around to the trunk and pulling out a worn blanket. He walked up to her and tossed it over her shoulders before opening her door for her. She was gazing at him with an unreadable look when he glanced at her, making him give a gruff "Don't want blood on the interior" before he looked away.

Back on the road and with a local rock station humming in the background, Dean tried to concentrate on anything other than the bloody wound _he'd_ inflicted on Buffy. But even though she didn't say anything, didn't give any sign that it was bothering her, it still ate at him.

"There's some pain stuff in the glove compartment," he said, not looking over at her. "Should be a bottle of water floating around under that seat somewhere, too."

Buffy, gave a grunt of acknowledgement and went about digging with her left hand.

"So I'm finally going to get to meet Bobby, huh? Think he'll let me have one of his famous hats?" She said, tossing back a few aspirin.

Dean was momentarily distracted by the disturbing (but somehow sexy, which made it even _more_ disturbing) image of Buffy in one of Bobby's trucker hats. "Oh, shit. I should probably call him…" Dean said, realizing he should give the older hunter a heads up and digging his phone out of his pocket.

Bobby answered after two rings, "Was wondering if you were going to bother calling and letting me know you were coming in hot with Hellhounds on your tail."

Dean floundered for a moment, "How'd you-"

"That brother of yours already called, figured you'd forget."

"Sam doing alright? Him and dad haven't killed each other yet?"

Bobby chuckled, "Not yet. They'd just switched off driving when I talked to him, so I guess the chances of them offin' one another lessen when one of them's asleep."

"That's probably best," Dean said with a grimly. "So this panic room thing of yours, it'll keep these Hellhounds from finding her?"

"Yep, it'll keep out any and every supernatural thing I can think of."

"Good to hear. We're only a few hours out. We'll see you then, Bobby."

"Sure thing, kid. Be careful."

The rest of the trip was quiet. Dean occasionally asking Buffy how her shoulder was, Buffy rolling her eyes and saying that being shot was wonderful and she was all kittens and rainbows, Dean telling her she shouldn't go jumping in front of bullets if she didn't like getting shot, Buffy threatening to have her fist jump into his face. Okay, so maybe not so quiet.

The afternoon sun was bright when they arrived, glinting off the junk cars along Bobby's drive from a cloudless sky. Buffy's irritation had melted away by then and she examined everything with an interest that Dean couldn't help but smile at. Knowing the Hellhounds could be anywhere, he parked close to the door and two of them grabbed their things and climbed the steps quickly. Bobby had the door open and was ushering them in before they had a chance to knock.

"Bobby, this is-" Dean said as they stepped inside.

"I know who this is," Bobby said, brushing him of and giving Buffy a big smile. "Bobby Singer. Nice to finally meet you."

Buffy gave him a small but genuine smile in return, "Same here Mr. Singer. I've heard a lot about you."

"None of that Mr. Singer business, just call me Bobby," he said, gesturing down the hall and pouring on the charm in a way that left Dean distinctly disgruntled. Then he paused. "What happened to your shoulder?"

_Uh-oh…_

"Dean shot me."

Bobby turned on him, shaking his head, "Nice goin' idjit."

"She jumping in the way," he defended weakly.

Buffy gave Bobby a wide eyed look of innocence and just shook her head and half shrugged as if she didn't know what he was talking about.

"Jumped in front of- Boy, your butt's getting out there and doing some target practice while we have some down time," Bobby said while Buffy smirked at Dean from over his shoulder. But she was all cute innocent Slayer again when he turned back to her. "You look half starved. I bet this idjit didn't even stop and get you anything to eat. I was just making some pork chops-"

Bobby's voice drifted off as he led Buffy down the hall, leaving Dean with his mouth hanging open.

An hour later, after having to practically drag Bobby out of the panic room, Dean sat down wearily next to Buffy. The long last couple of days finally catching up to him. He was pretty sure Bobby was fucking with him - it was either that or the man had some genuine Slayer hero worship going on. Either way, it was irritating.

Buffy sat next to him on the small bed in a tank top and a pair of yoga pants. While Dean had helped Bobby get dinner together, she'd grabbed a shower and cleaned and bandaged the shoulder that was now almost brushing Dean's. He took a deep breath, pulling in the soft clean scent of her and felt himself relax. Even with everything that was going on, and even when she was driving him nuts, it was like something in him just unwound in her presence.

Buffy gave a huge yawn, drawing him from his pork chop induced stupor. "I'll let you get some sleep. I'll call and find out how Sam and dad are coming along with that amulet."

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere," Buffy said seriously, her hand snagging his sleeve as he stood up. "If I have to stay in here, so do you."

Dean blinked down at her, his mind filling with thoughts of being wrapped around her on that cot before he slammed a big metal mental gate shut on that.

"I know you, you'll be out there poking those hounds with a sharp stick as soon as you're outta my sight," Buffy said, her sleepiness giving her a petulant look that he found adorable.

_No, damn it. Stop that._

Dean was too tired to argue and honestly, sleeping in the same room with Buffy was far from torture. He managed to find a cot in the small closet in the panic room and had it set up in record time. Toeing off his boots, he sprawled out on the thin mattress, the metal frame giving a squeaky groan under his weight. Turning on his side he took in the sight of Buffy, curled facing him and already fast asleep. Her face was paler from the blood loss, making the shadows under her eyes stand out severely, but there was still something almost… ethereal about her. Dean rolled his eyes at himself. He _really _needed to get some sleep if he was using words like 'ethereal'. Smiling to himself, he let his eyes drift closed, the image of Buffy sleeping across from him the last thing he saw before a deep dreamless sleep consumed him.


	24. Interlude Eleven Hell

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing purely for enjoyment.

**Warning:** Scenes of a disturbing nature ahead (at least if I'm doing it right they will be…).

**Interlude Eleven- Hell**

_Buffy didn't know how exactly she'd been expecting to get to Hell, but it wasn't by just falling through the floor in some run down gas station in middle of nowhere. She probably hadn't _actually_ fallen through the floor, but that's what it felt like - her stomach doing the swooping drop that it did when you miss the last stair, except stretched out indefinitely._

_Just as she was starting to wonder if all there was to Hell was endless nothingness, the air whooshed out of her as she was vertically clothes-lined by a thick chain. Her ribs creaked dangerously at the impact and she almost lost her hold on the Scythe, barely managing to keep it in her grasp. _

_She dangled there for a moment, just swinging slightly while she regained her breath, then pulled herself up. Either her balance was epically improved, the chain was wider than it looked, or rules of physics just plain didn't exist here, because she was able to stand on the tautly stretched line easily. It angled down slightly but her strides along it weren't bothered by the slope, she didn't slip or misstep at all. At first, worried about falling again, she'd kept her eyes locked in front of her. But now that she was feeling more confident, she started looking around her. She was surprised to see other chains like the one she was on, hundreds of them, probably more because they seemed to just keep going, disappearing into the darkness all around her. She wondered how she could even see them given the complete lack of light, but gave it up as another quirk of Hell. _

_As she descended lower and lower, she noticed two things. The first that she was feeling increasingly restless and itchy, almost like a live wire was running through her and the volts were getting cranked up steadily. The second was the she could hear something. At first the dull roar below was a relief, the silence had pressed down on her like a physical weight, complete and disconcerting. But soon she was able to tell what exactly she was hearing and wished for the quiet of before._

_Screaming. It was a multitude of people, all screaming. _

_She'd battened down her fear earlier, but now it came rushing back as she froze on the chain. Not wanting to go forward but having no choice. There was no turning back now. _

_She came across the first person not much later. He was attached to the chain she was walking on plus a few others - meat hooks gouged through his flesh and keeping him suspended. He was screaming, mostly just incoherent with fear and pain, but sometimes it was someone's name. Buffy stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, her heart clenching at the sobbed pleas that occasionally poured out. Without thought she raised the Scythe, planning to cut him free. But before she brought it down, movement to the left of her caught her attention. Another person hung there, also crying and screaming. And another and another. They were all around her, their cries mingling together and the sight of them continuing into the dark. There were so many… _

_She lowered the Scythe in shock and helplessness. The itchy, tight feeling under her skin was increasing and she was finding it hard to concentrate. Should she cut them down? All of them? Then what? There was no way that freeing damned souls would keep her off the demonic radar. She could-_

_Too lost in her thoughts and too distracted by the restless thrashing inside her, she didn't notice the presence behind her until it was too late. A hand, large and hot and strong, latched onto her right arm, wrenching her off the chain with an unbelievable strength. Bone snapped and fabric ripped as she was airborne, once again tumbling through the nothingness. Chains rushed by, but no matter how she reached she couldn't grab any of them. _

_There was no warning before she met the ground, nothing distinguished it from the rest of the blackness that surrounded her. The air was knocked out of her abused lungs once again and she curled slightly on invisible floor as she tried regain her breath. With a stab of panic she realized she'd lost the Scythe, her grip on it broken when her arm was. _

_A metallic clanging started up somewhere below her, loud and grating. She didn't place what it was until the last second. Chains. They erupted from above and below her and even her Slayer strength and speed was no help. They ripped through her palms and wrapped around her arms, grating against the exposed bone that had broken the skin on her right. Up her legs and through each thigh. Pulling tight and jerking her upright and spread-eagled in the air. Blood splatter around her and a scream ripped out of her throat. Her vision swam and tilted, but when it righted itself there was something there, distracting her from her pain and position. _

_Angel._

_Hanging from his own set of chains, his position mirrored hers about twenty yards away. Shirtless, his pale skin almost glowed in the gloom that surrounded them. Vivid paths of blood carving paths on the canvas of his flesh. His pants were black, blending into the background, almost giving off the optical illusion that he was just a hanging torso had it not been for his bare feet. _

_His eyes were wide, the whites visible all the way around his dark irises and his face twisted into a look of disbelieving horror. _

"_No, no, no, no, no-"_

_His mantra was low and broken, his head shaking back and forth in denial. _

_There had always been this… presence, to Angel. This aura of intensity and power that had drawn her like a moth to a flame. Something in her had always sought that out, wanted to be near it. The controlled darkness that he held. Maybe subconsciously she'd been fascinated because he was like her. A person, a human soul, with this otherworldly dark power that was always there under the surface. Now, knowing what she did about the origins of a Slayer's existence, it wasn't hard to imagine that their obsession with each other had been rooted in that similarity. Kindred spirits, latching onto the only other person that could possibly know what it was like. _

_That was gone now._

_As he hung across from her, he was somehow… diminished. Not because of his broken muttering or his defeated posture, it was something deeper than that. Exactly how much of Angel had been Liam and how much had been Liam chained to Angelus? _

_She shook her head - it didn't matter. It didn't change anything, she was still here to save him. Although, that was looking like it was going to be much more difficult than she'd originally planned. She tugged at chain wrapped around her left arm, feeling it slide through the middle of her palm at the movement with a stab of pain. She forced her fingers to curl around it awkwardly and took a deep breath, bracing herself then yanking. There was absolutely no give, if anything it seemed like they got tighter, pulling her limbs until muscles and tendons were screaming at the strain. _

_So, not breaking free that way then. If only she hadn't lost the-_

_Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the item of her prayers. Hooked on one of Angel's chains about fifty feet from him, was the Scythe. It must have fallen with her after she'd lost her grip on it, catching between the handle and the blade on the chain before it could reach the ground where she landed. _

_Now she just needed to get to it…_

"_Well, well, well. What do we have here? A lost little Slayer," a mocking voice said from behind her. _

_She stiffened as that crawling, churning sensation returned. All thoughts of Angel and the Scythe fled as it reached a crescendo, clawing at her mind and thrashing under her skin like a caged animal. That's when it hit her - it was the Slayer part of her. Maybe it was being so close to the origins of what she was made to fight. Or maybe it was being so close to the origin of her power. Either way, she knew it wouldn't be long before it drove her mad._

_The figure that had spoken sauntered around her, coming to a stop a few feet away. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on it before realizing it wasn't her eyes that were the problem. There were vague underlying human characteristics, but overlaid with a shifting, horrifying mask of shadows - exaggerated animalistic and monstrous expressions overlapping in a way that stretched her sanity. White eyes stared out at her from the demons face and she sensed that it was amused, even though it was impossible to read any kind of physical emotion._

"_Or maybe misguided is more accurate?" It continued, its tone oily and oddly accented. "I heard from a little yellow eyed birdie that you'd be coming. I wish I could've welcomed you better, I didn't get much notice. A cake would have been nice, and some of those little hats.."_

"_Who needs hats when you've got chains and impalement?" Buffy asked, forcing up a sunny grin even though her voice was shaking. _

"_A girl after my own heart!" It said with a gritty laugh, before giving a mocking sinister wave to Angel. "But I do have a present. Isn't that always the best part anyway?"_

_It turned away from her and approached Angel, who was still shaking his head and muttering, "No, no, not supposed to be here. She's not here. Not here…" _

"_It's a little broken though. I usually like to give better gifts, but I hear this is what you wanted," it said, grabbing a fistful of Angel's hair and yanking his head back. "I had high hopes for him, when he first got here. I usually don't take on outside work like this, but I had some spare time. He started off strong, lots of stoic silence and glaring. But he thought this would be like that demonic preschool hell he was in before. Oh, poor, poor Angel got bullied by the mean demons." _

_It smiled slowly as it pulled Angels head back further and further until a hunk of hair came away, part of his scalp still attached. Buffy cried out and yanked at her chains again, but Angel just kept up his muttering. The demon sighed and shoved the disgusting wad of hair and skin down Angel's throat with a shake of its head. _

"_Will you shut up? The grown ups are having a conversation," it said with the tone of a disappointed father. "He really is an annoyance. I'm starting to wonder if he's just plain too stupid to become a demon."_

_Leaving Angel hanging there, still shaking and vacant with dark hair protruding from his mouth, it walked back toward her. _

"_Well, Buffy Anne Summers. Let's get started shall we? I'm Alastair, Lucifer's Chief Torturer, and I'll be your guide today. And forever."_

_And a thorough guide he was. An education in pain began that wiped all thought from her mind._

_Blood. _

_Screams. _

_Hers. _

_Angel's. _

_Time stretched on yet ceased to exist._

"_You know, it's really sweet that you came all the way here to find him, Buffy Anne. But, I've been wondering, where was _he_ when everybody thought _you_ were in Hell?" Alastair asked, pausing in his carving to her midsection._

_Buffy's breath came in harsh panting gasps even though she wasn't sure she actually needed to breathe here. None of the rules of the mortal world seemed to apply here. She'd been torn apart only to be miraculously made whole again and again. Slayer healing was meaningless and even her considerable pain tolerance was laughable in the face of Alastair's inventiveness. All the while he kept up this maddening stream of chatter, subjects that seemed pointless but prodded at dark parts of her with silent probing fingers. _

"_Oh, that's right," he said with a snap of his fingers. "He spent a few months moping until he had an epiphany. He didn't feel bad because you were dead or because he missed you - he felt bad because he _didn't_ miss you. He felt guilty for not needing you. Then he took Fred out for ice cream."_

_Angel was shaking his head behind Alastair, but his dark eyes met hers for a second, revealing the truth. Something in her fell apart right then, crumbled into dust and was carried away on a blood scented breeze. _

_Lurid unwanted touches and obscene suggestions. _

_Hot rancid breath and whispered threats._

_Promises of power and offers of freedom._

Take the blade. Get off the rack.

No.

_The knife slid in a few inches below her belly button, the pain sudden but not surprising. She opened her mouth but the scream was stuck. Alastair leaned in close, his eyes closed and a look of rapture on his face. He opened them again so he could see her as he slid the blade up, slicing her open all the way to her throat. She would have screamed then, but only blood came from her mouth. Shaking and gasping, his hellacious visage swam before her. She'd long given up on quips and witty jabs, there was nothing but stark terror and endless pain. He pressed himself up against her, long leathery tongue sweeping up her neck and cheek before he pulled back and jammed his hands into her stomach. Working his way upward and wrenching her ribcage open. _

"_Look at you, still pretty even when you're inside out," he chuckled, looking down at the mess he was making. _

_Buffy's mind was lost in the fog of pain and horror, but even then she knew better than to look down. It was bad enough that she could hear it. The wet slithering and slopping plops of her internal organs landing at their feet. _

_She choked as his hand continued up, clawing up her throat from the inside. _

_And whole again._

_And in pieces. _

_And whole._

"_Your sisters dead you know…" Alastair said from his place next to her where he was studiously removing the bones of her hand and using various other bodily fluids to glue them back into a skeletal model. "Azazel sent someone to kill her the moment you left. Your stealth phone calls? Not so stealthy."_

_Buffy'd thought she'd effectively locked herself away at this point. That she could handle the pain, the feeling of her Slayer instincts thrashing away at her mind, Alastair's games. But with those words she realized just how flimsy those barriers she'd made were. They melted away like candle wax leaving her raw and exposed. _

"_Would you torture him if I brought her back?" He asked, pausing in his painstaking bone reconstruction to look at her curiously. "Would you get off the rack and take a blade to Angel?"_

_His interest sharpened when she didn't answer and he moved in closer. His shadowed shifting face stopping so close to her that his nose pressed into her cheek slightly and his rank breath moistened her face, his lips brushing hers when he spoke._

"_Would you submit to me, little Slayer? My every whim and desire?"_

_She closed her eyes and Dawn's face swam on the inside of her lids - laughing, crying, furious, mischievous. Her little sister had embodied life in a way that was absolutely amazing. And it was over. Because of _her_. She'd dragged her into this. Why was she even here? She opened her eyes and they found Angel blankly staring at her from his chained position. He'd stopped screaming for her, on her behalf, he'd stopped defending himself from Alastair's accusations that his love for her had been mediocre at best. All he did was hang there and stare. Buffy felt a sudden wave of fury toward him. What had he really ever done for her beside make her crazy for him and then leave her flat? Taking her wild teenage love and hording it all to himself, making it so she couldn't see anyone, love anyone, but him. Her life would have been better had she never met him._

"…_Yes."_

_The smile of Alastair's face was nothing short of obscene. But then he shrugged and turned away, "Too bad. As much fun as that would be, I can't. She was made out of concentrated energy and just kind of dispersed when she was killed. No getting that back."_

_Then he laughed._

_Cracks grew. _

_The offers continued._

_The refusals slowed._

_Her strength crumbled._

"_Is he really worth all this?" Alastair asked, his drawling voice showing nothing but bored curiosity as he lapped at his bloodstained hand. "This can stop. All you have to do is take this blade and use it on your ex over there. How many women would love to carve up an old boyfriend? Especially one that's screwed you over as much as he has? He was in love with that Cordelia, you know? With all those excuses he gave you about why you couldn't be together, why could he be with her? What was so different? Then there was the werewolf girl. And yet here you are, taking one for the team yet again. Except there is no team, Buffy Anne. There never was. Not with him, not with your family, not with your friends. It was always just you saving their pathetic asses. Giving and giving as they took and took. Them expecting nothing less."_

_He had fun then, she could tell. Switching his visage into the forms of her friends and family. Pulling forth her darkest, most buried fears about them. He wore them all flawlessly, like dark reflections of all the people she'd known. After a while it was hard to remember it was Alastair and not the worst of versions of the people she'd loved. _

_Xander, complete with eye patch and his lust for her, deeply buried but never really gone. Admitting that he'd always been jealous, that he'd just stuck around because he was waiting for his scrap of her after knowing she'd given the full course to the walking, talking, fucking dead. Willow telling her that she'd never really liked her, just wanted a friend other than Xander and Buffy was all there was. How it was all Buffy's fault that she'd gotten into witchcraft and killed Warren. That it was all her fault that Tara was dead. Her mother confessing how much she'd wished for a different daughter. How disappointed she was that all she got before she died was a kid that was all brawn and no brains, a college dropout with no future. Giles was also saddened by his lot with Buffy. Wishing for a Slayer that was better suited for a life as a warrior. How he'd cursed his luck for getting the boy crazy, dimwitted blond girl that never seemed to make the right choices. Dawn's tirade was basically just a rehashing of the last fight they'd had, which was somehow worse than the others - lending them a level of credibility that they'd been lacking before. Then she'd cried and said that they'd killed her and that it had hurt so much and it was all Buffy's fault. _

_The vision of Dawn had pushed her to the edge, but it was the next one that shoved her off._

_He wavered for a second in front of her, like the road during a scorching hot day, before solidifying into a person she hadn't seen in a long time. Dark blond hair, green eyes, and a leather jacket. Dean Winchester stood in front of her wearing Alastair's signature smile. Humming Metallica in an achingly familiar tone as he twirled Alastair's favorite razor and advanced on her._

_No. Not him. She could take any of the others. But not him._

"_Stop. Just… I'll do it. No more. Please," her voice was barely audible, even to herself. Wrecked vocal cords barely able to make human sounding speech, but Alastair heard her and understood perfectly. He was in front of her in a split second, back to his shifting monstrous image. It was sad that she was comforted by that. _

_Chains retracted._

_Bloody wounds disappeared._

_The Scythe drew her eyes._

_She stood in front of Angel, Alastair's razor in hand. The sight of the Scythe had tugged at something inside her. She could do this. She could convince Alastair that she was his new little torturer in training and she could get the Scythe back._

_It wasn't the thought of escape or rescuing Angel that made her so sure, so willing to do what she had to get her hands on the Scythe again. It was the thought of using it on Alastair that brought on that focus, drawing the shattered pieces of her together in a small but sturdy pile like a magnet. She shook with the force of that desire as she stood in front of Angel's chained figure. She could barely hear Alastair's words of encouragement over the roar in her head, telling her that that fury she felt was perfect, to let it have control. She realized he must have thought all that anger was for Angel. That was fine, better than fine even. _

_So she took a deep breath and set to work. _

_The first time she cut into Angel was ten times worse than when she was on the other end of the blade. Not because of the way his big brown eyes widened and filled with tears. Not because he looked at her with understanding and not betrayal. Not because of the sound of approval from Alastair. And not because of the warm wet feeling of his blood pouring over her hand. _

_It was because she liked it. _

_The part of her that had been clawing her mind apart since she'd arrived in Hell gave a contented sigh and fell silent as she stabbed her first love. She felt the first tendrils of sanity return as the Slayer in her was quieted by the bloodshed. And that was more disturbing than anything that had happened yet. _

_She knew she had to make it convincing. The problem was that it was so easy. She cut into him again and again, relishing the way the carnage calmed that animal in her. Pulled him apart and watched with impatience as he was put back together again only to start all over. _

_Again._

_And again. _

_And again._

_And again._

_Then it finally came. She didn't know how, but there was just this moment, like a light switch being flipped, that she _knew_ Alastair had let down his guard. That he believed her and had stopped watching her every move with suspicion. _

_She made her move immediately. Swinging up onto the chain and darting toward the Scythe that had hung so maddeningly close yet so far this entire time. She heard the inhuman growl behind her and felt his demonic fury on her back like a bonfire, but it was too late. She grabbed the handle and pulled it free. She froze for a split second as a fiery pain exploded in her hand where she was gripping it, sending spikes of pain up her forearm. But there was no time to think on that just then, it was nothing compared to what Alastair had put her through and was easily ignored. _

_She spun, swinging the Scythe upwards and burning a long smoking gash along Alastair's cheek as he slid to a stop behind her, just out of killing range. He screamed in fury, his smoky shifting form growing huge and rattling the chain beneath her feet with the power that he exuded. She dodged what used to be a hand and was now becoming a massive claw, jumping from the chain and landing in a roll on the floor not far from Angel. Taking the chance, she brought the Scythes blade down on Angel's chain that Alastair was still perched on. It snapped with a surprising _boom_ instead of the screech of metal she'd been expecting and recoiled from its captive. Snapping back it caught Alastair, sending him crashing into the darkness and out of sight with a howl. She made short work of the rest of Angel's bonds and pulled him up roughly, half dragging, half leading him away. _

_It was a few minutes before she calmed down enough to realize she had no idea where they were going. With growing horror, it occurred to her that she hadn't expected this. She'd just thought that as soon as she freed Angel they'd be out of Hell. Her mind was a complete mess and she scrambled to come up with an idea, but her concentration was slippery and shaking. _

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the words were rushing out of her mouth, getting more hysterical with every breath. But she couldn't stop, even when they were unintelligible because she was sobbing. The Slayer part of her was starting to claw at her sanity again and all that she'd seen and done were leaking out and overlapping._

_It was Angel that finally stopped their mad scramble to nowhere, gripping her arm with an unsteady but decisive hand. _

"_There's nowhere to run," he said, his voice rough and quiet. His tortured eyes looked clearer than they'd she seen them in a long time. They left hers and landed on the Scythe in her hand. "But you can set me free."_

_She was shaking her head in confusion, "How? I don't-"_

"_Free me, Buffy," he begged, his voice breaking. "You have to. Please."_

_Her eyes followed his back down to the Scythe and her face crumpled in understanding, "No… no Angel."_

_He hugged her suddenly, both of them shaking in aversion to touch after what they'd been through, but she gripped him back tightly just the same. There had to be another way. She didn't come all the way here for it to end like _this.

_Azazel's words came back to her then, "_Find him, release him … That will be your key … Freedom from the pit will be granted by it … just cut his bonds and free him._"_

_That sonofabitch… She'd been so stupid…_

_She pulled back from him and rested her hand on his cheek, then leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his dry lips._

"_Close your eyes," she said, her breath hitching._

_He looked at her for a moment longer, eyes filled with a gratitude that would haunt her for the rest of her days._

_Then he closed his eyes._

_And she killed him._

_Again._

_There a brilliant light, warm and comforting, that washed over her. Light, warmth, comfort - all things that shocked her silly for a moment, all things she'd forgotten about. Then she was alone. She sank down on her knees, staring out into the nothingness with the Scythe clutched to her chest. She knew she didn't have long. Alastair would find her soon, he'd be after her with an unending army of fodder. Overwhelming her with sheer numbers before she ever got a shot at him. And eventually he'd have her right where he wanted her - back on the rack. And he would be so _pissed_. _

_Her body shook with the thought of it. She couldn't do that again. She couldn't. The Scythe hummed in her hands and she stared down at it, her empty eyes staring back from the reflection in the blade. This was her only option. _

_There were no tears or last minute thoughts or regrets, no fear or disappointment, only a bitter sense of relief. She just wanted it to be over. All of it. She was so tired…_

_The Scythe hummed harder as she brought it toward her throat, sending a tight vibration down the length of her arm. But she didn't stop. She wouldn't. There was nothing-_

"_Buffy!"_

_Dean's voice rang out like a church bell in a killing field - loud and clear, jarring and out of place, a sound of hope that was lost on the souls trapped there. She almost fell for it, then she remembered that last torture session - Alastair wearing Dean's face. And brought the blade up to her neck. It laid against her skin, warm instead of cold like it should have been, the vibrations so strong it was hard to keep it there._

"_Don't! Buffy, don't you fucking DARE!" _

_His voice sounded so real, so close, so full of emotions that Buffy couldn't imaging Alastair even pretending to have, that she opened her eyes against her best judgment. _

_He wasn't in front of her like she'd expected, but more above her. Semi translucent and slightly glowing, he was hanging as if something was trying to pull him upwards. His green eyes were wide and desperate and his calloused hand was reaching out toward her, the muscles in his forearm taunt as he stretched. _

"_Dean?"_

_Was that her voice? She didn't even recognize it anymore. She was wondering if he was really him, what if he started wondering if she was really her? The garbled sentence only half made sense in her mind, but it was enough to send a bolt of fear through her. What if he changed his mind? What if he-_

"_Don't leave me. Please," she begged, lowering the Scythe. "Don't leave me."_

"_Never," his voice was strong and steady, his eyes locked on hers with a conviction so fierce it took her breath away - igniting something in her so long buried that she couldn't even really remember what it was. _

_She stretched her hand up and his fingers wrapped tightly around hers, their strength reinforcing his vow as he pulled her from the darkness. _


	25. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Buffy woke like she was bursting out of Hell itself, bolting upright with wide eyes and huge gulping breaths. Alastair's laugh echoing in her ears and the phantom taste of blood in her mouth. Something moved toward her, saying something, and she jerked away from it so forcefully that she went crashing to the ground off of whatever she had been on.

_Bed…_ some part of her whispered, slowly absorbing her surroundings even as she scrambled along the floor, backing from whatever was still advancing on her.

_Dean…_ it supplied again. But even this label didn't provide any comfort, just giving it a name and nothing more. It was moving slowly hands out and voice soothing, but her terror wouldn't be placated. Spotting a door to next to her she lunged to her feet and darted in, slamming it closed behind her and locking it with violently shaking hands.

_Stupid. Can't hide. Always there. Always waiting._

She slid down the door, hands buried in her hair, fingertips digging into her scalp as if she could physically stop the flow of memories, force her mind out of its tempest. She clenched her eyes shut, but only images of Angel, pulled apart by her hands, danced behind her lids. It was lucky there was a toilet only about a foot away. She heaved and sobbed for what seemed like forever, until her head pounded and her throat was raw. Only then did she notice the assault on the door, adding to the chaos until she finally screamed, voice cracking with the intensity of it.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

And it was quiet. The banging on the door, the jiggling of the handle, the constant rumble of a voice. It all stopped. Her own ragged breath echoed in what she could only now identify as a vaguely familiar bathroom. Tiny, between her, the sink that she was half pressed against, and the toilet, where her knees where bumping, there was room from nothing else.

Slowly, Hell faded from her mind and reality reasserted itself. She was at Bobby's, in the panic room, in the panic room's bathroom. Her stomach rolled again as she realized Dean had just seen her lose it. God, she was an idiot. She'd only been thinking about the Hellhounds and him going out and confronting them when she'd told him to stay. She should have known this would happen. This _always_ happened. Ever since she'd come back, sleep was the worst thing she fought. The horrors it held far worse than facing the Hellhounds.

She listened intently for any sound outside the door, but it was quiet. He must have left. Not that she blamed him. First, she begs him not to leave her alone, then she screams at him to go away. Good job, Buffy.

Except he had gone away well before she asked him to. She'd woken, shaking and alone in that New Mexico gas station - confused and terrified and with no Dean. She rolled her eyes at her own selfish whining. He'd gotten her out of Hell, what more could she ask for? It's not like he purposely left her, he didn't even remember it.

_At least, that's what he says,_ her traitorous mind supplied.

She ignored it and shakily pulled herself to her feet, splashing water on her face and brushing her teeth while mentally preparing herself to face Dean and the world in general - carefully locking everything away behind feeble mental doors. She wondered what she looked like, but was just as quickly glad for the lack of a mirror in the tiny bathroom - it was better that she didn't know.

Unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom, the first thing she noticed was that Dean was indeed gone, the second was the steaming cup of coffee and the bottle of water he'd left next to the door. Her face softened out of its hard lines at the display of thoughtfulness. She gulped down the coffee, burning her mouth and making a face at the way its flavor mixed with taste of her toothpaste.

She should go out, trim the Hellhound numbers. She was sure they were out there but didn't know what would happen if she just left them wandering around looking for her. Would they just keep coming? Piling up? It was best to just go take care of them now and not risk having an army of them waiting the next time she left the panic room.

Giving the doorway a shifty glance, she wondered if Dean had locked her in. Just the thought of it sent a shiver of anxiety through her. After waking up in her coffin, tight places had made her skin crawl, but after being chained up in Hell, being locked away and helpless held a whole new level of horror for her. Grabbing up the Scythe, she moved slowly toward the door, praying that it was just shut and not locked, she really didn't want to have another breakdown.

The door pushed open easily beneath her hands and she sighed in relief, realizing how stupid it was to think for a second Dean would lock her in there.

_He should though,_ that voice whispered again. _He should lock you away and forget about you. _

She rubbed her forehead in irritation and forced her subconscious back into its corner. The stairs were quiet beneath her feet, making her stealthy exit from the lower level easy. To her surprise, the window at the top of the stairs revealed that night had fallen - she couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so long. Turning down the hall, she could hear the shower running through a door toward the far end. Hopefully it was Dean and she could make it out without a trigger happy tagalong. At least that's what she told herself, underneath she knew she just wasn't ready to face his questions.

A shuffling sound drew her attention up ahead and she found Bobby behind a cluttered desk, the Wolfram and Hart books spread out in front of him. Armed with a lock picking kit, a screwdriver and a knife, he was busily prodding the books in front of him, looking as if they were personally insulting him by refusing to open. Buffy knew the feeling well - she'd been in that same position more times than she could count. They just _would not_ open.

"I'm going to go play with the puppies for a while," Buffy said from the doorway, twirling the Scythe in her left hand.

Bobby looked up at her briefly, "Those cars by the garage to the left are customer's. Do your brawlin' away from them, will ya?"

Buffy gave a small smile at his laid back dismissal and wondered if his sudden lack of interest in her had more to do with his concentration on the books or the fact that Dean wasn't around to get annoyed by it, "Sure thing. And if you could?" She said with a nod toward the bathroom.

"Leave me outta the lovers quarrel. I won't tell him you're out there, but I'm not lying to him either," Bobby said, getting back to his war against the book in front of him.

With a wave of thanks, Buffy headed outside. The night air was cold and her every breath sent up little plumes of mist. Taking a right and heading well away from Bobby's house, his customer's cars and the Impala, Buffy slipped silently through the rows of junk cars. Keeping low and alert, she held the Scythe in her left hand while she tested her range of motion on the right. It wasn't anywhere near healed yet, but it wouldn't hold her back in a fight either.

The first hound jumped at her from a nearby car not five minutes later, its claws making a horrendous screeching as it levered its huge body off the metal hood. Buffy cringed and hoped Bobby hadn't liked that car much as she ducked under its raking claws. The next ten minutes was a blur of violence as Buffy worked out her issues on a total of five Hellhounds.

The air that had felt cold earlier now felt welcome against her heated skin as she stood over the carcasses. Staring at them, she wondered if she should do some kind of cleanup, it seemed rude to leave them just laying around out here, she was a guest after all. The Scythe did some serious damage to anything demonic in nature, leaving them a little… gooey. But she could probably use a hose or something…

After a little bit of wandering she found a spigot and bucket, busying herself with the cleanup. Normally, she'd hate this - best thing about vampires was the dust in the wind part - but tonight the lack of thought involved in the repetitious back and forth of filling her bucket and dumping it on the dissolving remains was just what she needed.

She was almost feeling like herself again by the time she made her way back to the house, ready to face Dean after her humiliating behavior and maybe even ready to face the questions she knew he'd be firing at her.

Until she felt that squish under her boot and the foul smell that floated up to her.

She just stood there a minute, letting the moment really soak in. What kind of crappy karma must she have? Really? What exactly had she done in her past life? Sighing and giving in to the inevitable, she looked down to see that the enormous rottweiler she'd spotted on their way in must've passed this way, leaving an enormous pile behind. A pile that her booted foot was right in the middle of.

Shaking her head and breathing through her mouth, she went back to the spigot and pulled her boot off, holding the bottom under the spray of water while keeping her socked foot off the ground. The whole time hoping a straggling Hellhound wouldn't choose then to pop up, because she'd be so screwed.

Slipping her foot back into the now damp boot, she didn't bother to lace it as she trudged back toward the house. Disgusted with how her earlier confidence had been rubbed out by a single pile of dog doo. Not quite ready to go in just yet, Buffy stopped next to the Impala. She liked the old car, it had character and part of her was even grateful to it - it watched over Dean and his family, kept them safe, gave them a home. Kicking off her boots and stabbing the Scythe into the ground next to the front tire, she hoisted herself up on the hood. Her soft yoga pants slid across the waxed surface with ease as she laid out on the driver's side, her back on the windshield and her legs stretched out in front of her. The stars were bright above her and the air was cool on her bare arms and her damp socked foot. But there, with the open sky above her and the Impala under her, it was peaceful.

It didn't last though, it never did. After just a few minutes there was en eruption of raised voices inside and Buffy closed her eyes wearily. Here came the cavalry. Dean Winchester had to be the most stubborn person she knew. Why couldn't he understand that having the Hellhounds after him too would just make everything ten times worse? At least now they were just focused on her, and it's not like they came in mass numbers. It was never anything she couldn't handle. Yeah, she got knocked around a little, damn things were like giant smelly canon balls, just hurling themselves at you. It was just their persistence that wore her down. Mostly she hated that he thought she was worth the risk. If only he knew...

The door banged open so hard she heard it rebound against the wall followed by furious cursing and stomping. It didn't take him long to spot her, not that she hidden or anything, sprawled out on the front of his car like a giant squished bug as she was. She heard him go quiet and stop for a second before coming over to her, his steps slow and steady. She kept her eyes locked on the stars, hands crossed on her stomach and socked toes pointed at the sky as he came to a stop next to her, wondering if she was going to get yelled at for getting comfy on the hood of his precious car. After a few beats of silence, she couldn't take it any more and glanced over at him, relieved to see that he didn't look angry. Actually he looked more amused than anything, his eyebrow raised and a smile pulling up one corner of his mouth.

Dean Winchester was definitely a man that got better with age. She remembered him from the diner in L.A, all swagger and confidence, a panty melting smile that had all the other waitresses- young and old - enthralled. At the time, she'd seen nothing more than a cocky guy that ate too much pie and couldn't mind his own business. Of course, to be fair, she was probably nothing more than the rude waitress that scowled too much to him back then. Now though, his jaw was more square, shoulders broader, face more lined. Life had been hard for him back then, being the lynchpin of his broken family, and it hadn't gotten any easier for him over the years. But he wore the responsibly well. He took everything that was thrown at him and was a better man for it.

She wondered with a leaden stomach how he saw her now, what changes stood out to him the most.

"Where are your shoes?" He asked, oblivious to her thoughts.

"I cleaned up after my dogs, Bobby should clean up after his," she grumbled, eyes back on the stars above them.

Dean laughed and turned so he could lean back against the Impala, shoulders pressed into where the driver's side window met the roof and head tilted back so he could take in the stars too.

"Hounds?"

"Taken care of. For now anyway."

"Why are they after you?"

"Wolfram and Hart's got their panties in a twist because I messed up their big evil plan," Buffy said, resigned to answering his questions. She explained to him what Azazel had told her, what Wolfram and Hart had planned for Angel.

"So you did it? You got him out of Hell? I thought you said he was dead?"

"The only way to free him was to kill him," she said, that one statement seemed so inadequate for the weight it carried.

"Kill him… Jesus," Dean said, quietly. "So Wolfram and Hart's all pissy that you took away their future demonic head honcho?"

"Yep, angry evil law firm sends demon dogs after me. Just another day in the fun life of Buffy Summers," she said with a shrug.

"What happened to Dawn?"

The question was asked quietly and hesitantly, very un-Dean-like. Buffy's shoulders tightened at the mention of her sister, at the thought of telling Dean…

"I got her killed," she said, deciding to just get it over with. "I called her before I- before I went to Hell. I knew Azazel was up to something. He wanted me out of the way, that's the only reason he offered the deal in the first place. Whatever he was- _is_ planning, it's big. I asked her to see what she could find and call you with the details. Guess she didn't get that far."

Silence settled around them and Buffy kept her eyes locked on the sky, not wanting to see the look on his face. She knew she'd been stupid, so incredibly stupid, she didn't need to see what she already knew reflected on his face.

"It wasn't your fault," he said, his voice gruff.

She huffed out an unamused laugh, "I appriciate the effort, Dean. But we both know that I am _completely _at fault. I thought I was going into it with my eyes open, that I'd checked out all the details. I was arrogant and naïve and my sister died because of it."

"Stop it, dammit. It's a demon, it was fucking _made_ for manipulation," he said angrily, shooting a sharp look at her over his shoulder. "I know you, you thought you were doing what was best for everybody but yourself. You weren't 'arrogant and naïve', you were trying to help."

"The path to Hell really is paved in good intentions," Buffy muttered.

"If you thought you could help, you had to try," he said, turning to look over the junkyard. "You sit there and blame yourself, but the fact is your heart is just too damn big. You won't get me to agree that you going to Hell was a good idea. Or that that sonofabitch deserved the loyalty you showed him. But everything that happened wasn't because of your choices, it was because of that fucker Azazel and how he set you up. I know you'd never do anything to hurt anyone else-"

Buffy couldn't help the bark of cynical laughter that burst out of her, cutting Dean off on his list of her virtues. He had no idea. He just didn't get it at all. She was tired of this, she wasn't this saint that he'd painted her to be. She needed him to know, to understand. As much as she didn't want to - she couldn't stand the thought of the disappointment on his face when he figured it out for himself. It was better to just get it over with.

"I'm not-" She stopped and scrubbed at her face with her hand. "When I came back from Heaven… I felt like part of me was missing. It took me so long, _so long_, to just learn how to live again. And when I came back from Hell, it was even worse. Like big pieces of me had just been chiseled away. I'm _still_ finding missing parts," she had been trying to keep her voice hard, to will him into understanding, to hearing how different she was, but her voice was getting rough as she said things outloud that she had barely admitted to herself. "Now, me and math were never very mixy, so you tell me, what's left of me now? Half Buffy? A quarter? I'm not the girl you knew anymore Dean. The things that you were talking about, the things that made me good, they're all gone. The only thing that motivates me anymore is _revenge_."

There, she'd done it. He'd needed to know. Now maybe he'd quit trying to get himself killed on her behalf.

"That's bullshit," Dean said, startling her out of her assurances to herself that she'd done the right thing. His voice was hard and she could see with a glance that he was in denial, his shoulders set and his head shaking back and forth slightly.

"I did… _horrible_ things in Hell, Dean," she said softly. "I told myself it was just part of my plan to get out, but part of me enjoyed them. The Scythe… it knows something's different. It burns me like it would a demon sometimes."

The air around them was heavy and the chill was working its way into her bones. She hated that she'd told him, _hated_ it. But it was better this way. Things couldn't just fall back to the way they were before. She was just too… _wrong._

Dean stayed silent after that. She tried to be relieved that it seemed like he was finally hearing her, realizing that the Buffy he knew was gone. But mostly it just felt like another piece of her was crumbling away.

Swinging her legs around, she went to slide off the Impala, not wanting him to see her like this any more. But Dean stepped in her way, his thighs bumping her knees and his hands on either side of her hips, head lowered so his serious green eyes could look directly in her own.

"I haven't seen you since you were seventeen. If anyone would see a difference it would be me. You know what I see when I look at you?" He asked, his gaze boring into hers. "Buffy. I just see Buffy. Not half a Buffy. Not a quarter Buffy. There's nothing missing from you."

Her breath caught and she tried to tell him he was wrong, but her voice caught in her throat and her eyes filled with hot tears. She wanted to believe what he was saying, but how could she when she felt so broken all the time.

"You've been through Hell, literally. Maybe part of you just got buried under all that crap you have to carry around. But it's not gone. You're still you. Whatever you think is missing, we'll find it," he said moving in closer. "We'll find it, Buffy."

Then he kissed her.

Her first reaction was to jerk away, but then his hands were sliding from the Impala, up her sides, his lips pressing against hers so softly, almost questioning. He was so _warm_. Her instinct to pull away was quickly replaced by the urge to be closer, to soak in that warmth and _life_ that Dean exuded. To let it fill the gaps in her.

She sighed slightly, mouth parting under his as her hands found their way around him gripping the back of his shirt. Dean didn't miss the chance to move closer in every possible way and suddenly the warmth of before became an inferno. A hot tongue glided past her lips, pressing against hers like a brand, arms wrapped around her, one sliding to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, while the other settled around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. Her knees were bumped apart by his thighs so she was pressed to him fully, the length of his body hard against her as her mind tripped over itself, lost in the feeling of something _good_ for once.

Then his hand tightened on her hair, tilting her head back further and pressing her back, his body weighing her toward the Impala's hood. Suddenly it wasn't his hand in her hair anymore, all she could see was Alastair, yanking that chunk of hair and scalp from Angel's head, and the body pressed up against hers wasn't warm and welcome anymore, it was heavy and trapping her. She froze as the panic bubbled up inside, warring with logic.

Dean must have sensed the change in her almost immediately - pulling back, still touching her, but not pressing.

"Alright?" He asked, his voice so rough and deep that it sent a shiver down her spine despite the fear that was still threading its way through her. His eyes were dark and his lips moist and slightly swollen from their assault on her own. He looked absolutely delicious and she cursed herself and her freaking issues.

"Fine," she said, trying to convince both him and herself. "Fine."

She fisted her hands in his shirt to keep them from shaking as she tugged him closer, not quite comfortable but not wanting to lose his warmth yet. He let himself be pulled closer, just wrapping his arms around her and hugging her to him. Resting his head on top of hers and sighing into her hair.

"Buffy-"

"I don't know, Sam. I think your brother might be too busy _cuddling_ to talk right now," Bobby's voice came from behind her on the porch, lined with malicious glee.

"Sonofa_bitch_," Dean cursed.

The loss of his warmth was sharp as he pulled away from her. The cold bringing clarity back with it. What had she been _thinking? _Okay, Buffy, let's tell him what big mess you are and then make out with him. Fantastic. Nothing could go wrong there.

Lost in her own self depreciating thoughts, she barely noticed Dean lean over and yank the Scythe out of the ground. Only snapping to attention when he scooped her off the hood and slung her over his shoulder.

"You'll get your socks dirty," he said in the way of explanation, laughter in his voice as he walked to the house.

Buffy opened her mouth to threaten him with bodily harm when she looked down, "Can't complain about the view."

Dean stopped and she just dangled there, chin resting on her hands, elbows propped on his lower back. Nothing like a some Dean Winchester ass to make you forget all your problems.

"Next time, you carry me around and I get to enjoy the view," he said resuming his trek.

And there, buried and forgotten, she found one of those missing pieces. The bubble of laughter that came up was as shocking as it was welcome. Maybe Dean was right after all, maybe they weren't all gone.


	26. Phone Call Interlude Twelve

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Author's Note**: I know, I know. _Another_ interlude. You guys are probably sick of them and ready to get back to the meaty stuff. This is the last one for a while though, I promise.

**Phone Call Interlude Twelve**

_Dean stood in the parking lot of the diner he'd just been in, leaning against the Impala and watching the traffic fly by. After a hard rain the previous night, the early summer sun was clashing with the moisture, making the humidity thick enough to dig through with a spoon. The line on the other end rang and rang as he peeled off his over shirt before the voicemail finally picked up. Dean flicked his phone shut in irritation without leaving a message and tossed the button-down in the open window of the car - aggravated but not surprised, this was the norm lately. When Sam had first arrived at Stanford, he'd called Dean at least three times a week. But over time the phone calls had dwindled as Sam got more comfortable in his new surroundings - Dean had known it was coming, but he still hadn't liked it. What he _hadn't_ seen coming was the fact that Sam had not only stopped calling all together, but he'd stopped answering Dean's calls as well. _

_At first, being a Winchester, he expected the worst. But a few well placed calls had shown that Sam was just fine - going to classes, getting good grades, dating a hot blond. So, that meant he just didn't want to talk to Dean. He'd slowly phased his new apple pie life in over his old one. No room for freak brothers that lived in rundown motels and carried arsenals in their trunks. Well, fuck him, he didn't have room in _his_ life for cowardly giants with no sense of family. _

_Liar._

_His fingers automatically danced over the number pad again, dialing someone he knew wouldn't shut him out. _

"_Hello?" The voice on the other end was lighter than he'd heard it in a long time, bringing a smile to his face._

"_Someone sounds chipper this morning. What is it? 7:30 there?" He asked, glancing at his watch. "You should still be in your coffee stupor."_

"_Nope, no coffee stupor for Buffy this morning," she answered with a laugh, then went on almost proudly. "I've been up for an hour. I cleaned the kitchen and made Dawn breakfast."_

_Dean had a sudden pang as he pictured Buffy in a cheery sun drenched kitchen, messy morning hair pulled up and a cup of coffee in hand as she made pancakes. Maybe apple pie wasn't so horrible after all…_

"_Dean? You still there?"_

"_Uh, yeah," he said with a cough, shaking away his stupid daydreams. "So, what was for breakfast?"_

"_Cereal," she said sheepishly. "And orange juice. Oh! And toast! I made toast!"_

_Dean laughed, his homey picture of Buffy in all her domestic glory obliterated. "Sounds delicious."_

"_Was that sarcasm, mister?" Buffy growled out playfully. "I'll have you know, no one makes cereal as well as I do."_

"_I have no doubt. I'm sure you're a freakin' cereal chef," he said with a grin. _

"_Hmph. Enough about my amazing culinary skills," she said. "What's the what with you?"_

"_Same old, same old. Boring old salt and burn last night," Dean said, popping open the Impala door and sitting down, leaving his legs stretched outside as he dug around for his sunglasses. _

"_You and your dad?"_

"_Uh-huh. He's busy washing his truck right now. He swears a witch cursed it, made it a bird shit magnet," he said with a grin. _

"_I'm surprised he didn't make you clean it."_

"_He tried that before. Until I accidentally scratched the paint with my watch."_

"_Accidentally on purpose?" Buffy asked with a laugh._

"_I have no idea what you mean," Dean said in mock offense. "It was an honest mistake. I slipped."_

"_Of course," she said, "So, how's Sam?"_

_Dean gave a snort. "Like I'd know. Little brother's busy, doesn't want me cramping his style, I guess," Dean said, going for nonchalant and falling about a mile short as the bitterness swept through his words. _

"_What's that mean?" Buffy asked, her voice going serious._

"_It means he's not talking to me anymore," Dean said. _

"_That little brat," Buffy said, her voice going high in outrage and making him smile. "You know, I'm not that far from Stanford, I could go down-"_

"_No!" Dean blurted, eyes wide and imagining Buffy, barely coming up to Sam's chest, giving him hell in the middle of the Stanford campus. His gaze turned thoughtful, and he smirked, "Well… maybe…No. No. Sam's made his choice. I'm not going guilt or threaten him to be part of our family. And I'm not having you do it either. Especially when I can't be there to watch."_

"_Fine," Buffy huffed. "But if you change your mind, you just let me know."_

"_I will," Dean said, already feeling better than he had in weeks. "So, how are you doing?"_

_His voice was serious and he knew she'd understand what he was talking about. He'd only talked to her a couple times since she'd come back from Heaven. She'd tried hard to make him believe she was getting better, but he could tell she was struggling. This was the first time that he'd heard her really sound like her old self._

"_I'm doing… okay. Better," she said, her voice hesitant._

"_Who are you talking to? That's not Spike is it?" The voice in the background was young, but sounded pissed._

"_No, Dawn," Buffy said with a sigh. "I'm not talking to Spike."_

_Spike? He thought Dawn liked Spike… _

_There was a commotion on the other end of the line followed by a grunt of pain and a "You little-"_

"_Hello?" A young snippy voice came over the line. "Who is this?"_

"_Elegant Male Escorts," Dean said immediately. "Are you the one placing the Five Star Fantasy package order, 'cause I ain't got all day."_

_The was an "eep" and a "sorry" on the other end of the line and some more shuffling followed by a door slamming._

"_What did you tell her?" Buffy asked in bewilderment. "I don't think I've ever seen Dawn's face that red. You didn't say anything dirty to her did you," she asked, sounding dangerous. _

"_Of course not! I don't corrupt children."_

"_Dean…"_

"_I _might_ have suggested you were placing an order for a male prostitute..."_

_There was silence and Dean waited for the explosion. But what he got instead was a burst of loud genuine laughter. Something that he hadn't heard from Buffy in ages. Buffy's laughter was contagious and soon he was laughing right along with her. _

"_That'll teach her to be so nosey," Buffy gasped out. _

_Letting his chuckles die down, he asked, "Did her and Spike get into it or something? She sounded pissed when she thought I was him. I thought she had some hero worship, crush thing for him?"_

_The laughter on the other end of the line cut off abruptly, the sudden silence making worry and suspicion coil him. _

"_Spike's… gone," Buffy said, hesitantly. "He- there was a fight and he left town."_

"_He left? I thought you'd couldn't pry him away from you with a crowbar and some holy water," Dean said in disgust. He'd learned about Spikes obsession with her the year before. The revelation of the "Buffy-bot" making him see red and plan out a trip to Sunnydale before Buffy talked him down - claiming that he was valuable in fight despite his crush. A dark thought was forming in his mind as he asked, "A fight with who?"_

"_With me," came Buffy's flat answer._

"_With you." There was a barely perceptible tremor working its way through his hands and he tightened his grip on his phone, eyes narrowed and voice quiet as he asked, "Did he attack you?"_

_The silence on the other end of the line stretched out too long, giving Dean the answer he needed but didn't want. _

"_SonofaBITCH." _

_He stood from the Impala seat, slamming the door hard enough to make the glass rattle in the window. He paced back and forth, little plumes of dust rising from under his boots as his fury looked for an outlet. _

"_He didn't," she said on the other end of the line, barely audible over the pounding of his blood in his ears. "He tried, but he didn't-"_

"_I'll kill him. I'll fucking _kill_ him," he growled out, his mind supplying possible scenarios of what had happened that made him both sick and furious. That fucking undead piece of shit had laid his hands on Buffy. _His_ Buffy. _

"_Dean, it's complicated," Buffy said, sounding tired. _

"_It's _complicated?_" He asked incredulously. "Did he or did he not try to rape you?"_

"_He did," came the quiet answer. "But we'd already been sleeping together for months."_

_Dean froze in his pacing as the bottom dropped out from under him - his stomach lurching as he fought back the reappearance of the burger and fries he'd just had. _

"_You've been-" He couldn't even finish the sentence. His mind refusing to accept what she'd just told him. _

_He snapped the phone shut. _

_The traffic kept flying by as he stood there trembling in the dirt parking lot and when the phone in his hand rang he threw it with an inarticulate shout into the scraggly weeds on the side of the road. He stared after it a moment, not really seeing anything, before rubbing a hand over his face, his stubble scrapping under his fingers. She'd been sleeping with him. No, not _him_. _It_. She'd been sleeping with _it_. His mind just refused to accept it. There's no way Buffy would-_

_But, as he resumed his pacing he realized that maybe she would. Buffy hadn't really been herself since she'd come back. She'd been struggling, he knew. Struggling to find a measure of contentment, peace - an impossible feat after experiencing and losing Heaven. But sleeping with Spike wouldn't give her that. So why? _

_And it bothered him that it bothered him so much. He wasn't the fucking sex police. Who was he to judge who she slept with. He'd made some questionable choices when it came to sex partners. But at least they all had souls. Maybe._

_Spinning around, he marched to where he'd thrown the phone, determined to get some answers. The phone was ringing again and he snapped it open. _

"_Why?" He asked, his voice tight, his control stretched to its limits as he kept himself from saying anything he'd regret. _

"_I just wanted to feel something," she said with a sigh. "I didn't care if it was good, I just needed to know that I wasn't _completely_ empty. Spike gave that to me. I felt desperate and ashamed and I hated myself but… it wasn't nothingness. Does that make sense?"_

_And it did. Intellectually, he could see her point. But that was buried under what he _felt_. Which was disgust and fury and, most of all, guilt. He'd known she was hurting and he hadn't done anything about it. What he could have done, he wasn't sure, but the fact that she'd had to turn to _Spike, _and__ in such a completely self destructive way… Where the fuck were her friends? Her sister? Where the fuck was _he_. They'd all just let her fall._

"_What he did… It wasn't all his fault," she continued when Dean didn't answer. "I'd been using him. I didn't have to pretend with him, I didn't care about him, didn't care what he thought about me, about hurting him, he didn't matter. I used him over and over for my own validation. I'd hurt him, he'd hurt me. It was violent from the start. I think… part of me hoped that he'd kill me - felt alive at the thought that he could. So I kept going back for more. It was ugly and we were both so damaged…"_

_Dean swallowed heavily in the stretch of silence that followed, wishing he could say something to make her feel better. Wishing he was a big enough man to tell her it was alright and that he was fine with it. Wishing that the jealousy that burned in his gut would go away because it was making him feel like a total asshole to be envious of the fucked up relationship she'd had with the vampire. _

"_When I tried to end it, that's when he…" She finally said, taking a deep breath. "I'm not saying what he did was okay. But, I'd pretty much been asking him to hurt me, to use me, for so long-"_

"_Stop," he growled out. "I can't stomach hearing you defend him. I fucking _hate_ this, but I hear you. I understand, alright? But I can't..."_

"_Okay," she said quietly. "It's over. What's done is done. He's gone and I'm better now. Really. So, can we just talk about something else?"_

"_Yeah," he said, turning back toward the Impala and feeling tired. "Yeah, okay. But how? How are you better after _that_?"_

"_Well, Willow went evil."_

"_You so owe me a hundred bucks," he said immediately. _

"_Dean!" she yelled, but there was laughter in it. "Yeah, yeah. You're mister psychic guy and all that."_

"_Don't need to be psychic to know witches are bad news," he said with a shrug. The tension slowly leaking out of him. _

"_Willow's not 'bad news', she's just…"_

"_Evil?"_

"_No... well, not anymore. Or not right now... She just had a dark phase." _

_Dean snorted, "Okay, so how does Willow going evil equal you feeling better?"_

"_She almost destroyed the world," Buffy said quietly. "And I was scared. Scared for me. For Dawn. I realized I didn't want to die. Again."_

"_Hmm, a healing apocalypse. That has to be a first," Dean said. "Well, the worlds still here. How'd you stop her?"_

"_I didn't. Xander did."_

"_Xander saved the world? Another first."_

_He laughed at her indignant reply on the behalf of Xander. This was how it should be when you cared about someone. Something he'd thought he had with his brother. Good and bad, thick and thin, you didn't run away or turn your back. Nothing they could say or do could make you turn from them when you loved-_

_His thoughts skidded to a halt as he realized he'd just associated the word 'love' with Buffy. His mind decided to point out that he'd thought of her as 'his' earlier as well. So he did what he did best, he stuffed it down and locked it away. He had a demon to find and his dad to back up, she had a Hellmouth to guard. Maybe if things were different…_

_And the door slammed on the thought. _


	27. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Fifteen**

When John walked in the small hotel room they were sharing in Buffalo, Sam was just hanging up his phone, smile stretched across his face and still laughing slightly. Both happy for his brother and looking forward to teasing him unmercifully. He'd just have to make sure that Buffy didn't overhear. He'd never admit it to Dean, but she made him a little nervous.

His dad gave him a confused half grin, "What's goin' on?"

"Bobby, caught Dean and Buffy cuddling," Sam said, still loving getting to use that word in conjunction with his chick-flick-hating brother.

"_Cuddling?_" John's voice was tinged with surprise and, Sam realized, his smile fading, anger.

"Yeah," Sam said, slipping into the defensive immediately. Both as an instinctive response to his dad's attitude and in defense of his brother. "Maybe if you would have tried listening to him earlier, when he was begging you not to kill her, you'd've noticed he's in love with her."

He shouldn't have said that, he knew it the moment it came out of his mouth but it was too late. Not because of the jab at his father's parenting skills, but because it wasn't his place to tell something so private, something that he wasn't even sure Dean knew himself yet.

"He's not in love with her," John said, his voice hard as he turned and threw the bag holding their dinner down on the small table. "Slayers are a hunter's wet dream. Your brother's just fascinated by the myth."

"He's known her for years, dad," Sam said, trying to keep his voice level. They'd made it all the way here - one sleeping while one drove off and on - gotten the amulet from the storage locker and found a hotel for the night all without a fight. Sam had even held off on all his questions in an attempt to keep the peace until the job was done. And while he was glad they'd made it, gotten what they came for, he wasn't the least bit surprised that the truce was at its end. Part of him was even looking forward to it - to calling his dad out on all the things he'd been holding onto for so long. "You don't know what he was like. Looking for her, worried about her - you weren't there. You ditched him first chance you got."

"You're one to accuse anyone of not being there," dad shot back. "You walked out on us, on him. Dropped your family like a bad habit, if I recall."

"_You_ were the one that told me to stay gone," Sam said, his hands fisting at his sides. "This is the same thing isn't it? You have to be right-"

"I admit it, okay. Is that what you want to hear? I was wrong about her reasons for being after me. But that doesn't mean that it's safe for Dean to be around her. She still has Hellhounds and probably worse after her head and she still made a demon deal. I'm trying to look out for my son. I don't trust her and I don't want him hurt by her. "

"Like you were looking out for me when you tried to keep me from going to college? When you told me leave and not come back?"

"Dammit, Sam! This isn't about you!"

"No," Sam said, jumping to his feet and getting in his father's face. "It's about _you_ and your inability to relinquish control over _anything._ I can't go to school, Dean can't fall in love, the world can't spin because John fucking Winchester said so."

"You boys are _everything_ to me," John said with a growl, grabbing Sam by the front of his shirt. "Everything I do is to protect my family."

"Is that what you keep telling yourself?" Sam asked, genuinely curious and more than a little disgusted. "What makes you feel better about the decisions you make? Your justification? Because it's _crap_. Everything you do is about _revenge_. That's been number one on your list of priorities since the day mom died, not me and Dean."

With that he shoved away from his dad, grabbing his jacket and heading to the door. He couldn't be in this room for one second longer. John managed to get the last word though, he always did. And before Sam slammed the motel door, he heard him.

"And why are _you_ out here, Sammy?"

His anger allowed him to ignore his father's parting shot for about three blocks. After that, the cold started seeping in, the warmth his self righteousness gave him fading as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and his strides slowed. His father's mocking question echoing in his head.

It wasn't the same. It just wasn't.

He managed to convince himself of that for only another block. He loved his mother, he did. But other than the time with her spirit in their old house, he couldn't remember her. It was easy to make harsh judgments on his father's decisions, his brother's willingness to fall in line, when it was about someone he didn't have even a vague memory of. Easy to spout those words - "It won't bring her back". But when it someone you knew and loved and was part of your everyday life, someone you planned on a future with… Seeing them die, bleeding, burning, pinned to the ceiling…

The facts were there but Sam refused to admit them. He wasn't dragging two kids around with him, he wasn't disregarding everyone else in his quest for his revenge. He wasn't like his father. He wasn't.

The bar couldn't have appeared at a better time. A crooked "Budweiser" sign hung in the window, the right half of it flickering, and another sign above the beaten, dented metal door named the place as The Goat's Head. At this point he couldn't care less about the way it looked though, he just wanted a drink. Then maybe he could collect himself enough to go back to the room without risking another fight with his father. He was glad he'd had the foresight to hide the amulet. He wouldn't put it past the man to disappear into the night while Sam was gone.

The bar was pretty much empty, one man who looked to be asleep was slouched over his beer at the far end, but other than the bartender, that was it. Sliding onto the barstool, he ordered a beer. After a beat, he added a shot onto his order. His thoughts pinballed around, from his dad, to how he shouldn't have started a fight with the man until he'd gotten a chance to get more details on the demon, to Jessica, and then to Buffy. Buffy and Dean. He felt himself smile slightly at the thought of them. His dark mood lightening some. His brother - the consummate bachelor, king of the one night stand - was _cuddling_. He was going to give him so much shit about this.

There was no denying that the thought of Dean and Buffy gave him a pang, a sharp reminder of him and Jessica and what he'd lost. But just because he'd lost Jess didn't mean he'd begrudge Dean his happiness. Actually, it made him even more determined to make sure it lasted. He didn't want his brother to lose Buffy, didn't want him to go through what Sam had, what dad had.

Dean had already given up so much for their family, he deserved something good in his life. Dad had put so much weight on his shoulders it was surprising he wasn't crushed by it. Sam knew he hadn't been any help, he been so bitter about their lot in life that he'd ended up taking it out on Dean more often than not since dad was so rarely around. Then he'd just left. Part of him still felt bad about it, but more of him felt that he'd made the right call. He couldn't regret it as much as he wanted to. Those years in college, settling in one place, free from hunting, had been the best of his life.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice someone had sat down beside him until he heard the feminine voice order a beer of her own. Glancing over, he was startled to see a petite blond staring back at him unabashedly. Amusement shined out of her eyes from under some wayward strands of her pixie cut.

"Someone has _way_ too many serious thoughts tonight," she said with a small smirk. "I was about to resort to drastic measures to get your attention."

He smiled back at her and ran an embarrassed hand through his hair, suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that he'd been in a truck for the last twenty four hours.

"Sorry, I just… have a lot on my mind," he said, taking a pull from his beer while he tried to decide if her company was welcome or not.

"Obviously," she said with a raised eyebrow. "I thought your face might fold in on itself if your brow furrowed any further." She reached up and tapped him on the forehead lightly with a smile. "Keep that up and you'll be an old man before your years."

"I think I'm already there," he muttered, taking his shot. Then he spun on his barstool, and offered his hand. "Sam."

"Hi, Sam. I'm Meg."

* * *

"I'll take two," Buffy said, sliding her cards across the table, past the small pile of peanut M&M's in the middle.

Dean watched her with narrowed eyes, trying to find a tell, but unable to get past the thought of kissing her again. She glanced up at him, her eyes darkening when they met his.

"I still say we should have played strip poker," Dean said, with a slow grin.

"No one wants to see your pale idjit ass," Bobby grunted from the doorway of the panic room looking tired and grumpy - he must have lost the fight against the books. He grabbed a chair from the hall and brought it in with him, setting it down at the end of the cot they were using as a poker table.

Dean leered at Buffy, ready to make a comment about _someone_ liking his ass just fine. But a yellow M&M pegged him between the eyes before he could get the words out.

"Shut it," Buffy warned.

He grinned at her, glad to see her more like her old self instead of the frightened creature he'd woken up to. The leaden feeling returned to his stomach as the image of her, wide eyed and terrified, lost in her memories and scrambling away from him, popped into his mind. Those horrible keening sobs and retching that came through the bathroom door. The helpless feeling that had almost strangled him as he begged for her to let him in. It was something he wished he could forget, but knew was etched into his mind forever.

Looking up, he was glad to see that his moment of reflection was missed as Buffy and Bobby were both bitching about the books. He dealt out her two cards and announced that he was taking one, drawing her attention back to him.

While both of them were more relaxed now that Dean had talked to Sam and they knew the amulet had been found, there was a new kind of tension between them. The "what the hell was I thinking" and "this might be a bad idea but I can't seem to help myself" kind of tension. Dean could read it on her face as clearly as he felt it himself.

The timing was bad - she was traumatized and was filled to the brim with issues, he had his father and brother to deal with, there were the Hellhounds to contend with, and last, but certainly not least, was the yellow eyed demon. He was going to make that sonofabitch pay and pay dearly. For what he'd done to his mother, to his father, his brother, his family, and to Buffy. And he knew he wasn't the only one with those plans, each of them had a stake in the war against the demon. But despite all that, despite all the excuses he'd fed himself over the years about why pursuing Buffy was a bad idea, he couldn't get himself to back off. He wanted her. Plain and simple. And he'd wanted her for a very long time. He'd almost lost her, he _had_ lost her, he wasn't wasting any more time.

Unfortunately, Buffy didn't seem to have reached this moment of clarity yet. While he could see the desire in her, had felt it when she'd kissed him back, there was still a thick level of wariness blanketing it. He wasn't sure if it was him or what had happened to her or something else entirely that was holding her back, but he wasn't giving up.

"Full house," he said laying his cards out with smirk.

Buffy continued watching him for a moment, her expression suspicious, as if she knew he was mentally plotting against her. Finally, she looked away, sighing with a hint of a pout as she laid out her pair of kings.

"Oh, too bad," he said with a falsely sympathetic frown, making the "gimme" signal with his hands.

She met his gaze with wide green eyes and a pitiful expression.

"Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head and determined not to be moved. "Puppy eyes don't work in poker, Buf."

She nodded and looked sadly at her pile of colorful candy as she started pushing them toward him.

"Oh, hell," he muttered. "Just keep them."

Bobby barked out a laugh and Buffy grinned, snatching the M&M's back and popping one in her mouth.

"So, how long you think before your brother and daddy start tearing into each other?" Bobby asked, leaning back in his chair.

Dean shrugged, gathering the cards together and shuffling. "Since they're both awake now, I'd say anytime's a good bet."

"Idjits," Bobby muttered, catching the bag of M&M's they were using for currency as Buffy tossed it to him.

"Just as long as they keep it together long enough to get back here with the amulet," Dean said, dealing out the cards, including Bobby this time.

"Any idea about what this ritual might be like?" Bobby asked.

"None," Buffy answered, scooping up her cards. "All I know is what the messenger told me."

"How do you know it wasn't a messenger from Wolfram and Hart? Or Wesley just doing what they told him?" Dean asked, remembering what she told him about the ex-Watcher.

"I don't," she said simply, shoving a few candies into the pot. "But I don't have anything else to go on. There's no information anywhere that I could find that deals with this particular kind of hound. But it's just about impossible to get anything done with them all over me like a bad prom date, so I have to try something. I'll just have to see what the books say and go from there."

Dean scowled at his cards, both because they sucked and because he didn't like how this was shaping up. What if this didn't work? What if it made it worse?

"What was the messenger like?" Bobby asked, folding.

"A demon," Buffy said, shoving another handful of M&M's in and popping another in her mouth.

She looked up at them with guileless green eyes when they started at her open mouthed.

"This information that's supposed to save your ass is second hand from a ghost enslaved to Wolfram and Hart through a _demon_?" Bobby asked. "I take it back, she'd not out of your league. You're both idjits."

Buffy looked unconcerned though, "I thought the same thing when I saw him. Green skin, red eyes, horns - doesn't exactly scream 'trust me'. But he was driving a big fancy Cadillac, fanning himself with a Broadway program and kept calling me sweetie pie and cookie - not your garden variety hell beastie. Plus he said he'd known Angel, worked with him for a few years. Could've been lying I guess, but I felt like I could trust him. And that's saying something since at the time I wasn't trusting the sun not to fall out of the sky."

Dean didn't have much to say to that. Between dad and Bobby, they should be able to tell if the info in the books was legit. He didn't want to go into any more detail about the Hellhounds or why Buffy was feeling so untrusting at the time in front of anyone else. Buffy's time in Hell was something better kept between the two of them. He didn't really want to admit it to himself, and he damn sure wasn't going to say anything to her, but the fact that the Scythe burned her sometimes worried him. He didn't doubt what he'd said, he really thought that it was just a matter of part of her getting buried after all she'd been through. The Scythe probably wasn't doing anything other that trying to remind her not to get lost. But other people wouldn't be so forgiving. Other hunters might see her as evil. His father included. And who knew what would happen if the new Council found out about this.

Laying down their cards, Buffy smirked at him, her winning hand of three queens spread out in front of her. Dean tried the puppy eyed thing on her with no result other than a loss of pride.

"So what happened in Chicago?" Bobby asked after rolling his eyes at Dean.

"I think that was supposed to be a trap for John," Buffy said, leaning back in her chair and popping one of her newly won M&M's in her mouth. "I guess he's been treading on some toes with his hunt. Only I got there first. Some possessed chick and some shadowy demon thingies."

"Daevas."

"That fits. Bitchy, lots of screeching, long nails and reeking of evil," Buffy said with a shrug. "Well, they're dead diva's now."

Dean shook his head, used to Buffy's unique take on things, and Bobby, used to all forms of weirdness just paused for a moment before going on.

"So, Sam told me about what happened with Frank," Bobby said. "But what happened with Gordon?"

"Gordon was _crazy_," Buffy said, shaking her head. "Guy's cheese slipped way off his cracker, I'm doubtful he ever had any cheese at all."

Bobby gave a grim smile, "I'd heard something like that."

"Now that I think about it, I guess Azazel was working overtime in the gossip mill because Gordon was convinced I was evil, like John was. He set up this big elaborate trap for me that involved setting a bunch of vamps loose on a town," Buffy said, her grip on her cards tightening and her eyes darkening. "Said I was the bigger threat and it was worth the sacrifice to get to me. Almost worked too. He didn't take into account that the Hellhounds wouldn't be too happy about something else moving in on their chew toy though. They tore him apart while I was saving the people."

"At least they came in handy once," Dean said, feeling no sympathy for the other hunter.

"Wait, did you say Azazel?"

Buffy lifted a brow, "Yeah. The yellow eyed demon."

They both blinked at her. Dean smacking himself mentally. She'd said that name twice now and he hadn't put it together. Damn, he was an idiot.

"You got its name," Bobby said, that researcher fervor filling his eyes that Dean knew so well from Sammy.

"Uh-huh," she said. "Sorry, guess I should have brought that up earlier. I had someone looking into it, but… that didn't work out."

"I'm on it," Bobby said, throwing down his cards and taking a handful of candy with him.

Buffy watched his departure with raised eyebrows. "Man on a mission."

"If anyone can find anything on it, Bobby can," Dean said. Then cringed as he realized he'd basically just put Dawn's research skills down. "Sorry, I didn't mean that Dawn couldn't…"

Buffy waved off his apology and tossed her cards down on Bobby's, then raked all the M&M's into the middle.

"What happened to her?" He asked. Actually, he didn't really want to know and, more than that, he didn't want Buffy to have to tell him. But she needed to. While he wasn't one to accuse anyone of holding stuff in, she already had too much stuff locked down in there. Hopefully, he could get her to let some of it go.

Buffy stopped, her hands resting on the cot in front of her and her eyes locked on the candy. "She was stabbed to death in Rome less than a week after I went to Hell. It was in the paper and everything - _American Student Stabbed 17 times in Vatican Library_," she said, her voice flat and empty. "I probably wouldn't have even known Azazel was behind it if Alastair hadn't said anything."

When she looked up at him though, her eyes were burning. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved at seeing the spark of life that was missing from her words or to be worried at the fevered look.

"He's going to die. I know you want to be the one to do it, so does your dad, so does Sam. We all lost someone we love to Azazel, we all want a piece of him. But you should know that I'm selfish when it comes to this. I want him dead by my hands and I'm not holding back for anyone."

Dean gazed back at her and then nodded, "I wouldn't expect anything less."

She nodded and picked up the M&M bag, refilling it with the ones they had left as Dean collected up the cards. Soon both were tucked away in a drawer and Buffy was pacing the room.

"I can't just stay in here," she said, throwing her arms up. "I've been on the move for so long now. Being still is wigging me out."

Dean didn't mind her restlessness at all, he could watch her prowl around the room all day long. Blond hair brushing against her back with every stride, all curves and muscle and tightly harnessed energy. She was perfect.

"Spar with me," he said, getting up and carrying the chairs back to the hall then folding up the cot. All the while Buffy was staring at him like he was speaking Greek.

"Uh, that's a _really_ bad idea," she said finally.

"Why? Scared?" He asked with a grin.

"Yes," she said seriously, wiping away his amusement.

"Buffy, I wouldn't hurt-"

Her snort cut him off, "I'm not worried about _me_. I'm worried what I might do to _you_. My control's kinda slippy these days."

"Then I'll just have to take you down first," he said, smirking at her cockily. Not at all worried that she might hurt him accidentally.

Buffy narrowed her eyes then just shook her head, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Dean smirked and decided to play a little dirty, pulling his shirt off and leaving him in just a pair of drawstring pants. Buffy's mouth fell open and she stared at his chest a moment before meeting his eyes. Her look of shock making him laugh. He laughed up until the moment she pulled _her _shirt off, leaving her in her yoga pants and sports bra. His mouth went dry and she gave him her own sneaky grin.

"Two can play at that game," she said, moving in a slow circle around him.

They started out slow, testing each other. Tentative blows became steadily harder and simple moves became faster, more intricate. Soon they were a blur of motion and it was all Dean could do to keep from getting his ass handed to him. The fact that they were seemed to be evenly matched meant she was holding back, but he wasn't at all offended. He was just hoping to be somewhat of a challenge to her, victory against the Slayer wasn't something he was aiming for.

Only about ten minutes had gone by when he dodged the wrong way and ended up thrown to the floor, Buffy's slight weight holding him down. Both were grinning and breathing hard, sweat glistening on their skin.

"Not too bad," Buffy said, pulling her hair off her neck and giving him a nod. "Do I get the rest of the M&M's since I won?"

Now that he wasn't using every ounce of concentration to keep from getting knocked out, his focus was once again drawn to the expanse of tan skin exposed to his gaze. His hands seemed to move on their own, sliding up her knees that sat on either side of his chest and up her thighs until they rested on her waist.

She'd stilled and was looking down at him, her breath coming fast and her pupils blown wide.

"I had something else in mind," he said, his voice rough as his eyes landed on her lips. One hand moved to her arm, tugging her down toward him with the other moved up her rib cage, thumb brushing the underside of her breast.

"This isn't a good idea," she whispered, her brow furrowed but not pulling away.

"I think it's a great idea," Dean said, nuzzling the underside of her chin and making his way up to her mouth. "I think it's the best damn idea I've ever had."

Before she could argue anymore, he kissed her. Soft lips pressed back against his, the taste of her filling his senses. She made that sound again, the one she'd made on the hood of the Impala that had almost been his undoing. A breathy kind of sigh that shot molten heat straight through him. He pulled her down until she was pressed against him, sweat slicked skin sliding against his own - a dizzying contrast to the cold floor against his back. Letting out a growl, he almost grabbed her hair again, it was everywhere and just begging to be tangled in his fingers, but he remembered what had happened the last time and stopped himself just in time.

So he stayed away from her hair, instead placing his hand between her shoulder blades, the other creeping up to cup the breast it'd been skirting around. She let out a low moan, one hand pressed to the back of his shoulder and the other sliding down his side.

"Why haven't we done this before?" He muttered, coming up for air and attacking her throat with his tongue and teeth.

"Because, it's a bad idea. Very, very bad," Buffy said, tilting her head back to give him better access as her hand brushed the top of his pants at his hip bone.

"Really? 'Cause I'm thinking we were very, very stupid," Dean said, nipping at a collarbone.

She let out another of those addictive moans and swiveled her hips against his, making lights flash behind his suddenly closed eyelids. Without a thought, he flipped them, his lips attacking hers with serious intent this time, his tongue pressing against hers greedily. Hands roamed and he pressed against her.

Dean immediately felt the change in her - that handful of subtle signals that let him know to back off and back off quick. The stutter of her heart beat against his chest, the way it pounded like a scared rabbit when it picked back up, how her fingertips dug slightly into his skin, the way the rest of her body seemed to just pause. Just like before, he pulled himself back slowly, keeping contact with her, but backing off at the same time - giving her the chance to collect herself, to figure out she was fine and nothing was hurting her.

Her warm breath puffed against his chest, hands still on his skin but unmoving and stiff - unsure whether to pull him closer or shove him away. He left it up to her, staying still except for the brush of his thumb back and forth on her shoulder.

His mind tried again to guess at what exactly had happened to her to put her in such a state. But even as he wondered, he shoved the questions away - knowing that nothing he could imagine could be as bad as the truth and that he was better off not knowing.

Just as he felt her start to relax under him, his cell phone rang. He groaned out loud and he dropped his head to her shoulder. The huff of laughter that brushed across his ear made him shiver and he couldn't stop himself from running his tongue across her skin once more. Her breath hitched and before he could find out if it was in fear or pleasure, he levered himself off her and marched over to the phone resting on the small table by the wall.

"Dad" flashed on the screen and he shook his head. Twenty six and getting cock blocked by his father.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly.

"We have a problem." His dad's voice was serious and aggravated.

Dean immediately shoved all (well, most) sexual thoughts out of his head, "What problem?'

"Your brothers a drunken mess and I have no idea where the amulet is."


	28. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Your brother's a drunken mess and I have no idea where the amulet is."

Dean blinked in confusion, he could have sworn dad just say _Sammy_ was_ drunk_.

"Say what now?"

"Your brother-"

There was a crash in the background followed by somewhat devious laugh.

"Jesus Christ," John sighed, a sound following that took Dean a moment to identify as his father's teeth grinding together. "Your brother did something with the amulet - either hid it or lost it. Now he won't tell me where it is."

Despite the fact that the amulet that was the key to Buffy's freedom and safety was missing, Dean wanted to laugh. Sam was drunk. _Sam_. In front of _dad_.

"Let me talk to him," Dean said, shaking his head. He had a feeling he knew what had happened. The only reason Sam would be driven to drink was a fight with dad. And knowing Sammy and his low opinion of their father, he'd probably hidden the amulet first chance he got under the impression John would take it and run. He just hoped his brother hadn't had it on him when he went out and lost it somewhere. His stomach clenched at the thought.

There was a shuffling on the other end, followed by a clanking of the phone obviously dropping to the floor. After another drunken laugh and more cursing from dad, Sam came on the line.

"Deeeeaaaan!"

Dean jerked the phone away from his ear as his brother's chipper slurred voice boomed in his ear.

"Sammy, what's going on?"

"Nothin' man, nothin'. Just… chillin'."

"Listen, Sammy-"

"You know what? You know what Dean?" Sam said, his voice loud and reminding Dean of when he was kid and had just made some big discovery. "I love you. I'm so, like, glad that we're hanging out again. It's cool. And I love dad too. Mmm-hmm, I love him too. He's just such a _douche_ sometimes."

Dean couldn't hold it in any more and burst out laughing. He could just picture Sam, squinty drunken eyes, messy hair, swaying and yelling into the phone while dad looked on.

"That's- that's great, Sam," Dean said, regaining control of himself. "We love you too buddy. Now, I need you to tell me what you did with the amulet."

"Amulet?"

Great. "Yeah Sam, the amulet. Remember, the one for Buffy?

"Buffy… Man, Buffy's reeaallllly hot," Sam said, his tone a little dreamy. Dean's amusement melted away. "And she kicks ass, and-"

"Sam!" John barked in the background, shutting his brother up much to Dean's relief.

"Right, shouldn't think that way about your _girlfriend_," Sam said, snickering.

"Funny Sammy. Really. So where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"The _amulet_," Dean gritted out.

"Oh right," Sam said, then his voice got quieter as he continued in a loud whisper. "I hid it. Dad doesn't like Buffy much. And you know how he takes off. Was 'fraid he'd grab it and skeeeedaddle."

Dean rubbed his head, feeling a headache coming on. "And _where_ did you hide it?"

"Can't tell you, it's a secret," Sam said before snorting then laughing. "Just kidding, just kidding. It's behind the shower head. It's okay to get wet right? Hey, you remember that movie with the little fuzzy thing that wasn't supposed to get wet? And it did and it turned into…"

While his brother motored on about nothing, Dean could hear some clanking in the background, no doubt his dad checking out Sam's claim. Dean had a sudden rush of doubt. Maybe he should have waited for Sam to be sober. What if dad really did take the amulet and run off? Panic bubbled up at the thought. They would be _so screwed_.

There was some more shuffling and a muted "Hey, I was talking" before dad was back on the line.

"Got it. That was actually pretty cleaver," John said, then chuckled. "You really should see your brother's hair, he looks like Don King. Have to figure out this damn camera phone…'

Dean smiled at the mental picture. "So you two got into it, huh?''

"Of course. That's what we do. Neither one of us knows how to shut up or back down."

Dean blinked at his dads bald acceptance of his character flaws. "You all right? You been drinking too?"

"Nah, Sam just has a way of making your mistakes pretty damn clear."

"He knows you love us," Dean said, suddenly feeling bad for his father, knowing Sam's propensity for beating you with the brutal end of the truth stick. "We both do. You've always done what you had to. There's nothing wrong with that."

"There's plenty wrong with that," he answered. There was the sound of glass breaking in the background and John sighed again. "I'll get us on the road soon. I'm sure he'll be passing out here shortly, I'll load him up and get going."

Dean paused, the old doubt about his father's intentions rearing its head again. "Dad… I'm trusting you here. I mean, you're not-"

"We'll be there tomorrow night."

The line went dead and Dean closed it softly, hoping like hell he hadn't just made a huge mistake. He turned to fill Buffy in (and hopefully resume their activities) only to find she was gone. Again.

* * *

Azazel cocked his head, feeling the familiar pull of one of his children trying to contact him. Sliding back into the darkness of the trees behind him, he cocked his head and answered the call.

"Hi honey, did you have a good day at school?"

...

"Well, that's a shame. Did you have something else in mind?"

...

"Oh, I _like_ it. Do you think we can use him for our plans for the Colt as well?"

...

"Ouch, you should kill him for that after he's worn out his usefulness. Hmm, it was just a stray thought anyway, would have made things a little easier but less fun than what I was planning."

...

"Very good, keep me up to date. And _do_ be careful when dealing with old Johnny boy. He's a little tightly wound. Take your brother with you."

...

"If we get _really_ lucky, maybe he'll get it before the hounds get called off. In any case, we just need to keep it away from her long enough for an old friend to find her."

...

"Bye dear."

Azazel looked up at the house across the street. He'd been about to go in, do his thing, but the plan he'd been working on for so long was about to kick off and soon. As much fun as making more little soldiers would be, it seemed like a pointless waste of time now. He debated for a second longer before turning away. He had some business to take care of out of the country anyway.

* * *

Dean was frustrated - in more ways than one. Not only had he not gotten any more alone time with Buffy, but she was disappearing on him every time his back was turned. He thought she was sleeping - she was out after hounds. He thought she was eating -she was out after hounds. He thought she was showering - she was out after hounds. And when she wasn't playing Terminator or Houdini, she was with Bobby, helping with research. Which Dean knew very well she _hated_. Bobby seem to know that she was using him as a buffer between them and was loving it. He kept telling her how helpful she was - total bull. Buffy was about as useful as nipples on a man when it came to research.

Dean had taken up a position in the… study? Library? Who knew, every room in Bobby's house was filled with books so it was hard to label anything. He'd occasionally glance at the book in front of him, but was spending most of his time unabashedly staring at Buffy. His intention was to make her uncomfortable enough to chase her out of the room where he could corner her and find out why she was avoiding him. And maybe to kiss her some more. Maybe grope her a little if the opportunity presented itself. And he wouldn't be against getting sweaty and naked if-

"Christ boy, we're trying to work here. Do your sex thinkin' somewhere else."

Dean blinked, realizing he'd been staring hard enough at Buffy to set her on fire right where she sat. Even though her eyes were still staring at the book in front of her, he could see she was a faint shade of pink.

"Buffy," he said, stopping to clear his throat. "Can I talk to you a second. Alone?"

"Busy, Dean," Buffy answered quickly, not looking at him.

"Why don't you go make yourself useful and make us some sandwiches," Bobby suggested (ordered).

Dean slammed his book shut and tossed it on the table next to Buffy as he strode by. This was ridiculous, how was he supposed to convince her they should be together if he never got a moment alone with her. Maybe he was going about it in the wrong way. Maybe he should just start talking to her while Bobby was still there and make _him_ so uncomfortable that he left. Hmm, that had promise. But that would involve Bobby hearing him talk about _feelings_, so maybe not…

He tossed the sandwiches together, taking out his frustrations on the lunch meat and cheese, squishing the bread a little just out of spite.

When he got back with the plate, Buffy was gone.

"Sonofa- Where'd she go now?"

"Where do you think?"

Dean slammed the plate down and debated whether he should go after her or not.

"You really are hopeless," Bobby said. Dean looked away from the door to see Bobby grinning at him. "I thought you were supposed to be some kinda ladies man. Can't even get one little bitty girl to talk to you."

"It's… complicated."

Bobby snorted, "That's pretty obvious. It's also pretty plain to see that she thinks you'd be better off without her."

"What?" Dean asked, frowning.

"You're not the only one doin' starin' idjit," Bobby said with an eye roll. "Only instead of lookin' all worked up like her head's about to pop off like you do, she looks kinda… sad."

Dean rolled that around, it made sense - Buffy was always putting other people first. If she got it in her head that them being together would be bad for him, that would explain her standoffishness. But that also suggest she didn't trust herself to be alone with him. Interesting.

He grinned at Bobby, who'd gone back to his books. "Bobby Singer, the expert on the female mind."

"Better than being the jackass who don't know nothing about women," Bobby said without looking up, wiping the smile off Dean's face.

Deciding to go after her, he turned to the door. He was almost out of the room when Bobby's voice stopped him.

"Ah-ha! Here's the bastard! I was starting to think we weren't gonna to find anything at all on his yellow eyed ass," Bobby said with a victorious smile. He nodded at the tome in front of him. "It was rumored this book was actually written by a low ranking demon looking to blackmail himself into a better position. Went about listing everything he knew about the goings on in Hell and threatened to let it out into the world. Guess they didn't give a rats ass since it's been floating around here for the past couple hundred years."

"And you found the yellow eyed demon in there?" Dean asked, spinning around and striding back to the desk quickly.

"If Buffy's right about his name, then yep, he's right here."

Standing behind Bobby, he looked over his shoulder to where he was pointing to a place about halfway down an ancient yellowed page. Sharp angled script seemed to swim before his eyes got used to the odd writing technique.

**Azazel**

_Status - High_

_Position - General_

_Hell to Earth Transference - Moderate ease _

_Alternative Appellations - Azazael, Asa'el_

And that was it.

"Well, that was disappointing."

"What, did ya want an instruction manual on how to kill it? This ain't no regular demon or monster, Dean. Apparently, this thing's a General in Hell," Bobby said, his tone irritated. "It gave us something to go on, which is more than we had before. I'm pretty sure I saw some of these names in other books…"

Bobby's attention shifted to the stack next to him, but Dean's was drawn further up the page to another familiar name.

**Alastair**

_Status - Top Level (possible direct link to Lucifer)_

_Position - Chief of Torture / Grand Torturer / The Executioner _

_Hell to Earth Transference - At will (does so rarely though)_

_Alternative Appellations - Alistair, Alastor, _

Holy shit.

"You okay, kid? Lookin' a little pale there."

"Yeah, fine. You got this?"

"You mean can I work without you two sneakin' longing looks at each other? Yeah, it'll be tough but I think I can."

Dean gave him the finger as he left the room. His mind was tangled all up with thoughts of this Alastair and how Buffy knew him. The knot in his stomach told him he already knew the answer to that question. Grand Torturer. Quite a title. Images of Buffy - tired and empty eyed, scrambling across the floor to get away from him, flinching away from his touch, that illusive memory from hell of her blood splattered and broken - rolled through his mind and he felt his hands clenching in impotent fury.

Lost in thought, he rounded the corner and ran right into Buffy. Literally. They both landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs and an "oomph" on both their parts. He blinked down at her, taking in her own wide green eyes and the red mark blooming on her forehead from his chin hitting it.

"Evil beware, nothing gets past us," Dean said with a grin, his nose almost brushing Buffy's.

She smiled back, a welcome sight after the way she'd been avoiding him. "Yep, stealthy professionals. That's us."

He shifted slightly, staying pressed against her on the ground (maybe even pressing a little closer) but getting more comfortable. Her smile melted away, replaced with a nervous look.

"You can get up now."

"I don't think I can. I get up and you run off again."

"This is a bad idea. I said that before."

"Yeah, but then your tongue was down my throat. Mixed signals, Buf, mixed signals."

"I'm not saying it wouldn't be nice-"

"More than nice."

"-but I'm a big mess right now. Like a gooey, icky, 'what's that smell' kinda mess. Not that I smell. I hope I don't smell… But I just mean that it's of the bad. _I'm_ of the bad. And you've got stuff going on too, so you shouldn't have to deal with me and my wiggy issues. This feels nice now - really, _really_ nice - but what happens when-"

Then he was kissing her, a wide smile on his face when he pulled back. Buffy Babble was back. A sure sign of healing if ever there was one.

"Everything's going to be fine. You're not a mess. You're not of the bad. And you're not stinky," he said burying his face in her neck. "You smell amazing. Whatever comes, we'll deal. Trust me, I know everything."

Her face eased out of its worried look and her lips twitched into a small smile. "You do, huh? What's the square root of 645?"

"Twenty-seven," Dean answered immediately, pulling a number randomly from the air and smiling smugly at her shocked look before bringing his mouth to her ear. "But I'm talking about important stuff. Like how you like it when I touch you here. And how you make that sweet little sound when I do this."

Buffy did a little gasping moan as his teeth brushed against her ear and his finger tips danced under her shirt, lightly teasing her side. His lips brushed over her cheek before finding her mouth again. She melted into him, hands clutching him tighter and tongue seeking out his own.

_Ah, the sweet taste of victory._

Sliding one hand under her back and the other gripping her firm ass he twisted and hauled himself to his feet, keeping her wrapped around him and pulling a squeak from her in the process. Strong legs wrapped around him, making it almost impossible to concentrate on navigating the stairs and getting them into the panic room without running them into anything or dropping her, but somehow he managed.

The clang of the door as he kicked it shut with his foot echoed through the house, making Bobby smile and shake his head from his place in the library.

* * *

_Grainy images shifted in and out of focus before finally clearing. The room was unfamiliar - rustic. Old furniture and wooden walls, probably a cabin. Dad was leaning against the back of a couch, mouth moving but the words couldn't be heard. Suddenly a door flew open and Buffy stood in the doorway framed by the darkness outside. Blond hair messy, eyes bright and wild, her gaze was focused on John. Her face twisted into a mask of rage while her target just looked confused, warily standing up straight. Her mouth moved, framing the word "you". Baring her teeth, she lunged at him, Scythe glinting in the rooms low light as it arced toward dad's face._

A hundred miles from Sioux Falls, Sam jolted awake in his fathers truck and promptly puked on the dash.


	29. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer** - I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Author's Note: **There is a smutty version of this chapter. I didn't want to have to change the whole rating of the story here, so I'm posting the full chapter over at Twisting the Hellmouth, you can find the link in my profile.

**Chapter Seventeen**

Dean's hand slid down the bare expanse of Buffy's back as she laid curled into him, sated and half asleep, a sheet pulled to their waists. Warm breath moistening the skin of his chest , tousled hair tickling his neck, tanned skin glistening with evaporating sweat. This was different. And he wasn't talking about the mind blowing sex they'd just had (Slayer muscle control was his new favorite thing in the world). It was different because he already wanted her again. Because he knew it wouldn't just be _again._ It would be over and over. He'd never stop wanting her. And it scared him. Hunters didn't do forever. Either did Slayers. So where did that leave them?

Dean wasn't one for future planning. When he said things would be alright, he didn't know how, he didn't have a plan to fix everything, he just knew that he'd _make _them alright. He'd do whatever it took. So when faced with the prospect of forever, as he was now, he balked. He knew he wanted Buffy, had made that decision and accepted it, moved forward with that knowledge. But he was just now realizing the enormity of that choice. He wanted to stay with her, but what did that mean? For either of them?

As if sensing his turmoil, Buffy snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to his chest with a sleepy sound of contentment. He tightened his arms around her, burying his nose in her soft sun scented hair and realized it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he wasn't letting her go. What would happen would happen, they'd deal with everything else as it came.

His hand brushed over her skin again, tracing her curves and slipping below the sheet, drawing a soft growl from her. The sound shot straight through him and he pulled her closer, a wicked grin of intent on his face.

Then the panic room door swung open and his dad walked in.

Buffy's back was turned to the door and the sheet was slung low on their hips, covering all the naughty bits, so it could have been worse. At least that's what Dean told himself as his father closed his eyes and shook his head in a weary "why me" kind of way.

"We're back. Meeting in five," John said.

Then he was gone, leaving a thick silence in his wake.

"Ugh, please tell me that was _not_ your father," Buffy groaned into his chest.

"Good news is that he came back," Dean said, looking on the bright side. "And hey, hopefully no more stray mutts to deal with soon."

"That's true. I guess that's the end of never leaving this room though."

"Oh, that can still be arranged," he said, burying his face in her neck.

"Your dad's waiting, Dean."

"We've got five minutes, that's all I need," he said, pulling her close. Then paused when she snickered. "Wait… that's not-"

"Maybe _you _only need five minutes, Quick Draw, but I'd like a little more than that. And I'm not starting something you can't finish," Buffy said slipping out of his grasp.

Sighing in disappointment, Dean laid there for a moment longer, enjoying watching Buffy dress before he pulled himself up after her with a groan.

They came up the stairs just in time to see Sam come in from outside with a bucket and sponge.

"Hey Sammy, whatcha got there?" Dean asked.

Sam paused in the hall, staring at Buffy oddly and Dean fought the instinct to step in front of her. He shook his head, this was _Sam_ for Christ sake. Then his brother's expression cleared like there'd never been anything off at all.

"Uh, I had to clean out the truck…" Sam said, cheeks going pink.

Taking in his brother's pale and sickly face, Dean put the pieces together.

"Clean out- Oh man, you _didn't_…"

"Yeah, I did. All over the dash," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you know dad can curse in Spanish?"

Sam continued into the kitchen and Buffy and Dean followed, waiting for him in the doorway.

"No problems getting the amulet?" Buffy asked, leaning against the wall. Her hair was tumbling over her shoulder and Dean automatically reached out and pushed it back, hand lingering on her shoulder.

Sam paused, looking over his shoulder from his position at the sink and his expression darkened at the scene, making Dean's eyes narrow. What was up with Sammy?

"No, everything went fine," Sam answered, finishing rinsing the bucket and putting it under the sink.

Bobby and dad were in a silent stare off when they got to the library - Bobby behind the cluttered desk, leaning back in his hair with his arms crossed and dad against the wall next to the window, arms also crossed. Dad's eyes tore off Bobby when the three of them walked in.

"Your brother threw up in my truck," John said, words obviously aimed at Dean but eyes on Sam.

Sam sighed but didn't say anything, just stared sullenly off to the side.

"Just be glad he's old enough to clean it up himself now. I can't tell you how many times I-" Dean stopped, noticing the dirty look Bobby was giving John and the contrite look on his father's face.

"Soooo, where's the amulet? Let's pop these baby's open," Buffy said, obviously sensing the tension and ready for a distraction. She strode away from Dean toward the desk and he was suddenly acutely aware of the lack of her presence at his side.

"Say this works," John said, eyes on Buffy as she stopped by the desk. "What then?"

"Then I can concentrate on hunting down Azazel," Buffy said with a raised eyebrow as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"That's the Yellow Eyed Demon, dad," Dean said, stepping further into the room. "Buffy told us his name-"

"I already knew its name," John said, shocking Dean into silence. He could feel Sam vibrating at his side, his anger slowly climbing and seeming to make him larger than he already was.

"You knew? And you didn't _tell _us? We could have been looking him up! Researching-"

But Dad wasn't listening to Sam, his eyes were still locked on Buffy and she was staring right back at him.

"I agreed to this, to help you, because I knew Dean wouldn't stand for anything else. He'd keep putting himself in danger to try and help you and I can't have that. We get this done, the Hellhounds stop tracking you, then you leave. Stay away from my family, I don't want them caught up in your mess," John said.

"John, that's-" Bobby started, standing up behind his desk.

"Not your decision," Dean said, striding over to stand next to Buffy, trying to ignore the uncertain look on her face. Knowing that dad had just hit on weak spot in her armor. "We're all after the same thing here, it's stupid to split up to accomplish it. We'll have a better chance against it if we're all together."

"I don't trust her, Dean," John said, his dark eyes landing on him. "We don't know what this deal is she made, or why the hounds were after her in the first place-"

"I know all that and I trust her with my life," Dean said, stepping closer to Buffy, shoulders brushing in a show of support and solidarity. "The question isn't if you trust her, it's if you trust me."

Silence settled over the room and Dean couldn't help but notice his brother's surprising lack of support. He'd expected Sam to be right there with him, backing him up on this. But when he glanced his way, Sam was just silently staring at Buffy again, eye's narrowed and brow furrowed. What the hell?

John shook his head and sighed, but pulled the amulet from his pocket and tossed it to Dean. A begrudging acceptance, he'd go with it for now, but he wouldn't like it. Dean caught the amulet easily and handed it to Buffy.

"Maybe I should take these outside," Buffy said, eyeing the books warily. "We don't know what's going to happen when I open them."

"Just open the damn things," Bobby grunted. Dean could swear he had a vindictive look on his face, like this was payback to the books for not opening for him.

Buffy looked around, but no one but her seemed concerned so she sighed and placed it in the corresponding slot on the Wolf book. There was a slight hum followed by a whirring sound, then silence. Pulling the amulet away, she slowly grasped the cover and tugged the book open. Her jaw promptly fell open.

"What the hell is that?" She asked, voice shrill.

Dean moved in close, trying to ignore the tingles he got from being pressed up behind her, and the others crowded around as well.

"Uh, looks like another language," Dean said hesitantly, turning his head to the side to see if that helped make any sense of the gibberish on the page.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she said, eyes still locked on the book. "All that and I can't even read the damn thing? It look familiar to any of you?"

John and Bobby were shaking their heads, but Sam was still and silent, a thoughtful look on his face. "Sam?"

"Open the other ones," he suggested, moving closer.

Buffy shrugged and used the amulet to pop the other books open with less care than she'd shown with the first one. Once they were all open and laid out, Sam started shuffling them around, sliding them around on the desk in different orders. When he tried the Wolf and the Ram side by side and the Hart below them, there was a flare of light and they snapped together as if magnetized. They all leaned forward as the ink slid around the page and then settled into plain old English.

"I'll be damned," Bobby said, grinning up at Sam. "Smart thinkin' there, kid."

Leaning past Sam, Bobby flipped through the pages. After a few minutes of tense silence, a picture of a Hellhound appeared on one of the pages.

"Yahtzee," Dean breathed.

Relief coursed through him and he could feel Buffy loosen up next to him. He reached over and clapped Sam on the back.

"Good job, Sammy. You just saved Buf's bacon."

Leaning forward to read what it said with the others, Dean missed the worried look on Sam's face.


	30. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Author's Note:** A new chapter for you from me on my birthday. Something's wrong with this picture…

**Chapter Eighteen**

Sam and Bobby were hunched over the desk, working out the details on the ritual as they had been for the past hour. Dean was in the shower, Buffy was out once again thinning the Hellhound population and John had disappeared on a phone call. Sam, while still pulling his weight in the research department, was having a moral dilemma. Was he doing the right thing? After what he'd seen that dream? Maybe he was in denial, too soft hearted - if it were Dean or dad they'd probably do it differently, more professional, detached. But Sam couldn't find that in himself. When he saw the way Dean looked at Buffy, the softening of those hard hunter eyes, he just couldn't make himself ruin that. He'd just have to stop it, that was all. Maybe she was possessed in the vision, or… hell, he didn't know, he just knew he wouldn't let it go down like that. Maybe he was wrong, maybe it wouldn't play out like that at all, or maybe there was something behind John she was going after, maybe it was just a nightmare, maybe he was in some serious denial. He sighed mentally and decided to focus on the task at hand, he'd just keep a close eye on Buffy for now.

"This calls for virgin blood," Sam said with a lip curl. "How are we supposed to get that?"

"I have some in the basement," Bobby said offhandedly as he sketched out a circle and some symbols. As if feeling the weight of Sam's stare he looked up and shrugged. "I didn't _kill_ anybody for it, just got it in trade a while back and figured it might come in useful."

Sam opened his mouth to ask who Bobby was dealing with that traded virgin blood, but just shook his head and decided he didn't want to know.

"Well, here's a list of the other ingredients we'll need. There aren't many but a few are pretty rare," Sam said, sliding the sheet of paper over to the older hunter.

After scanning it, he nodded, "Yeah, got all those. We should-"

He broke off as dad came striding back in the room, phone clenched in hand and face dark.

"Jim Murphy's dead."

"What?" Bobby said, disbelief thick in his voice as he stood from his chair.

"His throat was slashed," John said, looking ten years older as he slumped down into a chair. "Caleb found him. Said there were traces of sulfur."

Sam didn't know what to say. They'd known Pastor Jim since they were kids. A kind man and a preacher, he didn't seem to have the disposition for the calling of a hunter. But he did it and did it well, going about his work with a grim sort of resignation. Sam hadn't seen him since the year before he left for Stanford and the guilt of not keeping in touch gnawed at him.

"Jesus," Bobby said, sliding back into his chair. "You think it's _the_ demon?"

"Don't know. Could be he just slipped up, made a mistake. Or it could be the demon knows we got the Colt."

"Let's get this show on the road then," Bobby said. "Sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get that sonofabitch."

With dark determination, they went back to making sure they had everything ready. Dean showed up at some point, Sam was too lost in a sea of ancient symbols and Latin to really acknowledge his presence, but he did vaguely note his dad telling him about Pastor Jim and Dean's angry reaction.

Finally they had everything ready to go, a collection of random bottles of ingredients, the jug (yes, _jug_) of virgin blood (Dean didn't have Sam's tact, voicing a loud "Who the hell are you hanging around with Bobby?"), and the sketch of the ritual circle that would need to be drawn. They were doing it all outside in case things went bad they wouldn't be confined to the small space of the house (not to mention they didn't really know _what _would happen and Bobby wanted to keep his house in one piece).

"What's going on?" Buffy asked, pausing in the doorway and toweling her damp hair.

Sam took her in - small and blond, a quizzical look on her pretty face - she didn't _look_ evil. But then again, she didn't look like what he expected a Slayer to look like either. His brother was normally an excellent judge of character, maybe he should just trust him on this. But the visions hadn't been wrong yet... He felt eyes on him and glanced over to find Dean watching him with a closed expression - eyes narrowed and jaw tight. He'd need to watch himself, Dean's protective instincts were a force to be reckoned with - something Sam knew first hand since he was usually the focus of them.

"We're ready," Sam said, standing and gathering up the stuff in front of him and trying to ignore the way his brother's eyes were boring into him.

They all made there way to a clear area on the east side of Bobby's property. Buffy was the only one who didn't seem concerned about a Hellhound popping up - walking along next to Dean and swinging the Scythe jauntily while the rest of them scanned the area ceaselessly. The sky was darkening rapidly, filling with heavy rain clouds. Sam hoped they'd be able to get this done before the bad weather came on them. Couldn't draw out the ritual circle with buckets of rain being dumped on them.

Once in the clearing, Bobby made short work of laying out the circle with the virgin blood while Sam used the other ingredients to draw out the symbols throughout it. John was double checking all their work with the notes they'd taken while Buffy and Dean stood off to the side, talking quietly and smiling occasionally.

"Okay girly, we're ready for you," Bobby said - him, Sam and John joining the other two. "Just go stand in the middle there."

"If Wesley lied about this, he's going to be one sorry ghost," Buffy growled as she approached the circle warily.

"What're you going to do, kill him?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"I'll… I'll do that burn and salt thing you're always telling me about, but reallllly slow," she said, pausing and tilting her head in thought. "Like with a blow torch, starting with his boney little feet."

Dean and Sam looked at her warily, more than a little disturbed. But John and Bobby were looking at each other , thoughtful and approving.

"Spirit torture… might actually work…" John muttered.

"Have to try that sometime," Bobby answered with a nod.

Buffy gave a smug smile, making Dean laugh. When was the last time he'd heard Dean laugh? _Really_ laugh? It was then that Sam really took in the changes in his brother since they'd parted ways in Colorado. When he and dad had gotten back, he'd been to wrapped up in the dream to take in the difference, but now he could see it clear as day. Dean was _happy_. Despite everything that was going on, there was a lightness to him that Sam couldn't really remembering him having. Ever.

_Please don't be evil_, Sam thought as he watched her approach the line of blood. Suddenly she yelped and jumped back, Dean miraculously appearing at her side at the speed of light.

"What? What happened?" His brothers voice was gruff with concern, his eyes raking over Buffy, looking for damage.

"The Scythe is not a happy camper," she said, switching it to her left hand and shaking her right, revealing a bright red welt across the palm.

"That's some pretty nasty mojo there," John answered. "Circle's made of virgin blood. A weapon for the side of light probably takes issue with being involved."

Buffy stood indecisively at the edge of the circle, before finally staking the Scythe in the ground and entering with out it. Dean backed away slowly, dad pulling both him and Sam even further by grabbing the backs of their shirts. Sam rolled his eyes, ready to lay into dad for treating them like they were six. But Dean shot him a warning look that had him holding his tongue. It didn't stop him from jerking out of dad's grasp as soon as they were a decent stretch away though. He _hated_ when he did stuff like that, both he and Dean were adults and could be told things, not forced into action. He was suddenly vindictively glad that he'd puked in his truck.

Bobby had also backed away some, all of them unsure what would exactly happen when the ritual started. Moving along the outside, his voice raised, Bobby recited the Latin from the page in front of him while he circled the perimeter. It went on like this for about five minutes before he finished, stopping just to the right of where Sam, Dean and John were standing. The chanting died away and there was a moment of stillness while they all waited with bated breath. Just when Sam was starting to wonder if they'd done something wrong, there was a slight rumble in the ground and the circle and symbols started to glow slightly. There was also a glow around Buffy, a kind of blue vapor floating off of her.

"We're seeing what the Hellhounds see," Bobby said. "That's the way they been tracking you."

"Like supernatural B.O.," Buffy said with a grimace.

Dean laughed and John and Bobby grinned while Sam choked back a laugh of his own. Damn, he really hoped she didn't turn out to be evil, he was starting to like her.

The vapor continued to waft away and dissipate until finally the last little whiff disappeared. Just in time too, because the last remnant hadn't been gone ten seconds before a Hellhound came thundering into the clearing, teeth showing and red eyes roaming. Sam shuddered, still disturbed by the sight of the unnatural thing despite all the monsters they'd come across before.

"Moment of truth," John said softly.

It slid to a stop about twenty feet from them and sniffed the air with loud wet snuffling huffs. Slowly it wandered around, pausing at each of them to sniff again before entering the circle and coming to a stop in front of Buffy. Sam could see her hands twitching, obviously wishing for her Scythe, but she stayed still and waited. It growled lowly in it's throat and they all tensed. It crouched, muscles tensing and Dean cursed. But then it was wheeled around and left.

"I can't believe that worked," Bobby said after a beat of silence.

"What?" Buffy yelled, wheeling on him and marching out of the circle. "You didn't think it'd work but you let me go in there weaponless and be all... dangley, like a worm on a hook?"

"Was the only way to find out," Bobby said with a shrug. "You're a Slayer aren't ya? You could handle a little mano-a-mano Hellhound fighting."

"Dude," Dean said, looking like he couldn't decide whether to be pissed or laugh. Finally settling on being a smart ass, he said, "Wouldn't it be womano-a-hellhoundo?"

They all rolled their eyes and turned back toward the house, Buffy grumbling under her breath and Dean tugging at her hair, telling her to quit pouting.

"Oh crap, forgot the Scythe," Buffy said, spinning around. Only to freeze and utter a soft "uh-oh" loaded with dread that had them all looking back. There, where she'd left the Scythe planted in the ground was Jesse Sinclair, holding the Scythe in one hand and a gun aimed at them in the other.

"Well ain't this just a strange gatherin' of folk," he called out, his southern accent not sounding very down home and comforting right then.

The first splat of rain drops was the only answer, all of them too shocked to speak. It was Bobby that first found his voice, muttering lowly so Jesse couldn't hear. Not that he had to, the steadily increasing rain was muting sound, replacing it with a soft hiss.

"How'd he even know you were here?"

"Don't look at me, I didn't tell anyone," Dean said, holding his palms up.

"Me either," Buffy chimed in, her eyes still locked on her weapon.

John shook his head and they all turned to look at Sam. Meanwhile, Sam had been panicking since Bobby first voiced his question. Because he _had_ told someone where he was going and who would be there.

"Well, you see…"

"_I'm on this… this stupid road trip with my dad. He's such a dick. One of those guys that had to control every. Little. Thing. You know anyone like that? You gonna finish that drink? Thanks. You know, he said that my brother couldn't love his girlfriend? Who says somethin' like that? Buffy. Buffffffffffyyyyyyyyy. Dude, that's such a weird name. Meg. That's a normal name. You have a normal name. Buffy. *snicker* It's kind of fun to say though… You're a really good listener, Meg. Anyway, I just need to get back to Uncle Bobby's without killin' my dad. He just… he just pushes my buttons. He-"_

"Short blond hair, a little taller than me?" Buffy asked.

Sam nodded trying not to see how pissed Dean was or how disappointed his father was.

"Oh great," Buffy said, throwing her arms up. "She's a demon, Sam. Calls Azazel father. I'm hoping she meant it figuratively, because if not… the eww factor is too high for words."

"So why isn't she here? Why send Jesse?"

"Because a demon can't touch the Scythe," Buffy said darkly.

"I think ya'll had just about enough chattin' over there," Jesse called over the sound of the rain, position unchanged.

"Come on, man, don't do this," Sam pleaded, turning his eyes on Jesse, hoping to fix the mess he'd put them in. "A girl told you to come here right? She's a-"

"I know what she is," Jesse called back calmly. "And I ain't workin' for her if that's what yer thinkin'. This got nothin' to do with no demons. This is between me and that girl there that killed Frank. And ya'll for lettin' her get away with it."

"There's a lot you don't know-"

"That she was _savin'_ him?" He asked, his haggard face twisting into a sneer. "Yep, know all 'bout that. Question is, why'd he need savin' in the first place? Why was them hounds even out there? Because of _her_, that's why."

Sam glanced at Buffy, her face was pale and she offered herself no defense. "You're right," she said, her voice soft but still audible. "It's my fault he's dead. If I'd just let them take me, he wouldn't have died."

"Then why the fuck didn't ya!" Jesse screamed, his face contorted in fury.

"There's five of us Jesse," John interrupted, stopping the deteriorating situation before it got any worse. "You can't think you can face us with those odds and walk away."

"Don't plan to," he said. "I'd be answerin' that if I was you."

They looked around at each other in confusion for a second before Sam's phone started ringing, making him jump slightly. He pulled it out slowly and glanced at dad. John nodded and he answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Sam?" A woman's voice questioned.

"Who is this?"

"Think real hard, it'll come to you," she mocked.

"Meg…" Sam growled, hand tightening on the phone.

"Aw, Sammy, you sound angry. And after we had such fun together. I'm hurt, really. But I don't have time for you right now. The grown ups need to talk, so let me speak to your dad."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but a glance at Jesse had him handing the phone over. Jesse may have said he wasn't working for the demon, but he was certainly working _with_ her. Best not to take the risk of pissing him off.

"This is John," his dad answered gruffly, eyes locked on Jesse.

After a moment of silence dad's eyes went wide.

"Caleb? Caleb! He's got nothing to do with this let him go."

_Oh no_, Sam thought, his stomach plummeting as he remembered what had happened to Pastor Jim.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

After another silent exchange from the other end, John's face went pale.

"Caleb!" He shouted, the hand that held the phone to his ear shaking with fury. "I'm going to kill you, you know that?"

_Please don't let him be dead…_

"Okay. I'll bring you the colt."

Sam's eyes widened and he took a step toward his dad. He wanted to argue, to rage against giving away the only thing they had to use against the demon. The only thing they had to get revenge for Jess and mom. But if Caleb's life was forfeit otherwise, what argument could he really give?

"It's going to take me about a days drive to get there," John said, the calculating look on his face for once a welcome sight to Sam. He was already planning something. "That's impossible. I can't get there in time and I can't take the gun on a plane."

There was another stretch of silence, where only John could hear the counter offer, all the rest of them got was the sound of the rain steadily coming down around them.

"Dammit!" John yelled, slamming the phone shut and looking to Jesse, who was no more than a vague outline now as the rain was coming down in sheets. "Jesse-"

The sound of the gunshot was loud and shocking, and the gruff cry of "Balls!" even more so. Bobby started to go down next to Buffy. She lurched forward, grabbing him before he hit the ground and lowering him gently. Sam, Dean and John had all hit the deck as soon as they heard the shot and they stayed low to the ground, crawling through the thickening mud over to the other two. Sam shot another look over to where Jesse was, but didn't see anything. Either he was gone or the rain was too heavy to see him.

When he got to the huddle, John had already pulled off his over-shirt and was wrapping it around Bobby's thigh, where it was rapidly turning red.

"The Chevelle next to the garage has the keys in it," Bobby said to Buffy through gritted teeth. Cursing as John pulled the makeshift bandage tighter.

"What-" Buffy started in bewilderment.

"Jesse's runnin' away with your Scythe and the demon's want it. That means you can't let them have it, girl. Nothin' good ever comes from a demon gettin' what it wants."

"It's probably a trap," Dean said shaking his head.

"I can handle a trap," Buffy said, her eyes drifting to where Jesse had been.

"Then I'll go with you," Dean said, getting on the under Bobby's left shoulder while dad got under the right and Sam grabbed his legs.

"You need to stay here," John grunted as they started shuffling toward the house, carrying Bobby. "That demon girl killed Caleb."

Dean and Sam almost dropped Bobby in there shock. Bile rose in Sam's throat. First Pastor Jim and now Caleb. He'd hoped that since dad had agreed to the trade it meant Caleb was still alive. Obviously they'd found another piece of leverage. Glancing at Dean, he saw that his brother was devastated and his heat went out to him. Caleb had been a good friend to Dean. Before he knew about Buffy, he would have thought Caleb was the closest person to him after family.

"The demons want the Colt and they're going to keep killing people close to me until I give it to them," John went on, revealing why he agreed to the trade. "Bobby's going to be down for a while. Sam and you need to stay here. With Jim and Caleb dead, they'll come for Bobby if things go bad."

"You're not giving them the Colt," Sam said, a realization, not a question.

"Going to try and avoid that if at all possible."

"Wait, you can't go into that alone," Dean said angrily. "You know it'll be a trap."

"Traps all around," Buffy muttered from behind them, looking small and bereft in her soaked clothes and without the Scythe that was usually glued to her side.

"You gonna leave your brother here to deal with some pissed off demons while Bobby's down for the count? Or are you going to leave Bobby alone and send Sam with me while you go with Buffy? That's not going to fly Dean and you know it."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue and Sam felt the same. But the reality of the situation was that without the Colt (or the Scythe, which he suspected held similar properties) the chances of killing the demon that killed mom and Jess were pretty much nil and the chances of them coming out of this alive took a steep nosedive as well.

"Quit talkin' about me like I'm not here, idjits," Bobby growled. "Don't need no babysitters, bullet wound or no."

They ignored Bobby's protests though. There was no way they'd leave him laid up by himself with a possible demon attack on the way. They'd already lost Pastor Jim and Caleb, no way were they losing Bobby too.

The rest of the trip to the house was spent in tense silence. Once inside, they got Bobby situated on the couch, where Buffy squatted down next to him and whispered her thanks for all his help and promised she'd see him again soon before she exited the room. Dean followed after her, muttering about boiling water. John started cutting through Bobby's pant leg while Sam went to get the med kit. He grabbed it from the hall closet but stopped by the kitchen doorway on his way back, seeing Dean and Buffy in the rain just outside the back door.

"Be careful," Dean said, rain running down his face and shirt clinging to him.

"I will," she answered with a small smile, strands of her blond hair darkened with water and clinging to the sides of her face.

"Take this with you," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it to her. "No more disappearing acts, got it?"

She nodded and turned to go but then spun around, grabbing Dean by the collar and pulling him down into a kiss. When they parted they both breathed, "Don't die" at the same time then grinned at each other.

Then she was gone.

Sam felt relief surge through him at her departure. She couldn't kill dad if she wasn't around. But it was quickly replaced by a knot of guilt as he saw his brother, standing in the rain, staring after her with a lost look. Sam, unsure whether to hope she never came back or worry that she wouldn't, turned away, med kit clutched to his chest.


	31. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Nineteen**

She was getting close, she could feel it. She wasn't sure if it was instinct or the Scythe calling to her, but after a day and a half travel, she'd finally caught up to Jesse Sinclair. It hadn't been hard actually, he'd left a trail a mile wide, obviously wanting to be followed. After tracking a man like John Winchester it was cake.

She was currently rumbling along an old dirt road in southern Georgia and Buffy was getting sick of driving. Not to mention, she missed her Camaro. She'd been tempted to stop and get it on the way, but decided against it - worried the trail would get cold if she wasted any time. Maybe on the way back… She couldn't really complain about the Chevelle though - it was ugly as sin (most of it the color of flat gray primer with one fender a dusky red and the trunk bright yellow) but it ran well. And it was stuffed to the gills with weapons. Something she was glad for when she stupidly left Bobby's without so much as a single stake. Luckily Bobby had sent her off in a car that was packing.

Bobby… she really liked the old hunter. With Sam and Dean there, she was sure he'd be okay. At least that's what she kept telling herself. That she'd finish this with Jesse and it would all be fine. That John would go into his own demon-y trap and walk away unscathed. That Bobby's bullet wound wasn't serious and he'd be kicking idjit ass in no time. That Sam and Dean would be bored waiting around at Bobby's because no demons would show up there. She swallowed hard. _Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what'll happen._

_Just like things will work out with Dean and we'll live happily ever after_, she thought, rubbing her forehead wearily. _What am I doing?_

Did she love him? Yes, had for a long time. Longer than she'd even wanted to admit to herself. Did she want to be with him? Hell yes, she wasn't sure she'd ever wanted anything more. Was it as simple as that? No. Not at all.

She was broken and he was slowly gluing the pieces back together. She was empty and he was filling her with love. He was giving her all these wonderful things but what was _she_ giving _him._ Nothing. She had nothing to offer. She was a broken Slayer, a trouble magnet and she wondered about her own sanity and humanity on a daily basis. How was that fair to him? For him to wake up to her screaming every night. To stand behind her while she stared in the mirror and assured herself that her eyes weren't black. To sit at her side when she had a panic attack wondering what would happen to her soul when she died, if she'd just go back to the pit.

Maybe John was right, maybe she should stay away. But could she? She didn't think so and she hated herself for it.

Dean was a good man. Amazing, really. And she was… She'd tortured Angel. And she'd killed a man. That's why she was here, in this place right now. His life had been traded for hers. In her drive for revenge and her fear of going back, she'd unintentionally sacrificed this man's friend. He had every right to want her dead. She knew that in her heart. But there was also a darker, more selfish part of her that knew she wouldn't give him what he wanted. She wasn't done yet. Not until Azazel paid for what he'd done to Dawn. Not until she was sure the Winchesters were safe from him and whatever he was planning. Would she be able to do it again if the situation called for it? End another man's life in pursuit of her own goals? She denied it of course, her mind screaming out the old litany that she'd spouted to Faith so righteously - "Slayers aren't killers". But that dark part in herself that seemed so much louder since she'd gotten back from Hell, asked her if she was so sure about that.

The rusted Chevy pickup at the side of the road pulled her attention back to the here and now. She guided the Chevelle up behind it and cut the engine. It was empty from what she could see, but that didn't mean much, this could be part of the trap. Cringing at the raw whine the door gave when she opened it, Buffy slid out. Deciding she should be armed before she went creeping around backwoods Georgia, she went around to the trunk and pulled out a couple knives, a sword, and a stake - just for old times sake.

"If I hear any banjo music, I'm out," she muttered.

It was much warmer there than it had been in South Dakota, making her dirty clothing, still spotted with Bobby's blood and streaked with mud, stick to her as she walked down the road. She grumbled under her breath about impatient avengers, not giving a girl any shower time as she glanced around at the scenery warily. The dirt road was lined with deep ditches, then giving way to thick under brush and trees. Lots of places for nasty things to hide. The road was long and straight, allowing her Slayer vision to catch sight of Jesse long before she should have been able to given that the sun had set a few hours before. Not that it mattered, he wasn't moving, wasn't hiding, just standing in the middle of the road, Scythe in hand.

As she got closer, it wasn't the sight of how haggard and grief stricken he looked that made her stomach drop, though it did add to the guilt pile. Buffy was used to days without sleep, Jesse was much older and obviously not. No, what worried her was the hole and pile of dirt at his feet.

Right at the center of a crossroad.

"You don't want to do this," said, stopping not far from him.

His only answer was a blank stare and to kick the pile of dirt into the hole. The demon was there almost immediately.

"My, my, what an interesting little powwow we have going on here," she said, slinking out of the shadows with a smile, eyes flashing red for a second. "A Slayer and a hunter, you'll forgive me if I'm a little suspicious."

She stayed a good ways from them, slowly walking a wide circle around the two of them.

"I want her in Hell," Jesse said, his voice rough.

The demon paused, eyebrows raised. "A soul in Hell is the payment _for_ a deal. You're saying your wish is to see her sent to the pit? That you're willing to give up your own soul in ten years time to have it done?"

"That's 'xactly what I'm sayin'," he said.

She laughed then, loud and long, doubling at the waist with amusement. Catching her breath and wiping at her eyes, she smiled at them widely.

"Ah, I _love_ it when things get interesting. It's always 'I want to be rich' or 'I want to be famous' or 'I want her to love me'. Humans are usually so boring. This though…" She resumed her circling, her dark hair fanning out behind her and making Buffy think of a vulture circling injured prey. "Unfortunately, taking souls is a tricky, tricky business. Lots of red tape, you understand. Normally, I'd say there was no chance. But since this one's already agreed to go to Hell once… Hmmm. I'll have to let my boss handle this deal."

And then she was gone as quickly as she'd appeared

Buffy's heart stuttered. Was that even possible? She'd read that crossroads demons could deal in regards to just about everything. Could they take her soul if it was someone else's wish? She didn't think so, taking someone's soul wasn't something that was easily done. But she didn't know for sure and that made her scared. Very scared. That dark part of her struggled against its chains. _Kill him_, it said. _Kill him now before you can find out if it's possible or not. He can't make a deal if he's dead. It'll be like saving him. He's damning his soul to Hell, so if you kill him now before he makes the deal, you'll save your life AND his soul_.

No. She wouldn't do that. She would _not_ kill this man. How could she ever hope to look Dean in the face again. To be even a fraction to him of what he was to her if she did something like that. Instead, she turned imploring eyes on Jesse.

"You don't want to do this," she told him, fighting for calm. "I'm sorry about your friend, I _really _am. There's not one single day that's gone by since then that I haven't thought about it. How I took his life. But please, _please_ know that I didn't want him, or anyone else hurt because of me."

"Them hounds was after _you_," Jesse said, his harsh voice a relief because it meant he was listening. "Whatever reason they was after you, was because of something _you_ done. Not nobody else. He shouldn't've had to pay for your bad choices."

Buffy swallowed hard and nodded. "You're right. But that's going to happen _again_ if you make this deal. This time _you'll _be the one paying for my mistakes. You're promising yourself to Hell with _no idea_ what that really means. I've been there, I know. You want revenge on me, fine. Just don't damn yourself in the process."

Jesse was staring at her now, his face awash in disbelief and confusion. "You're gonna try an' tell me you're worried about _me_? After what you done?"

"I agreed to go to Hell to save someone that didn't deserve to be there. Someone who'd saved people _every. Single. Day_. Someone who got taken there because the evil he fought was pissed off that he'd beaten them. I was tricked into thinking I could save him," she snorted and looked away from Jesse's probing stare. "Maybe I did, I know it doesn't feel like it. Anyway, miracle of all miracles, I got out. And they were pissed because I got away. That's why the hounds were after me. The demon that I made the deal with, the one that got me into Hell, killed my sister while I was gone. The same demon that killed John Winchester's wife. And I know you want your revenge, and I know I deserve it, but I can't die. Not yet. Not until that _thing_ has paid for what it's done. Not until it's been stopped. And definitely not at the cost of your soul. I'm not worth that."

Before she could deteriorate into begging, another demon showed up. A shorter man with dark hair in a suit and a cocky grin.

"Well, look at you," he said in an English accent, rubbing his hands together. "Hear there's quite the deal on the table involving your soul Slayer. Got to say, you certainly kicked the old hornets nest on your way out. It's not everyday Alistair gets made a fool of. Or ever really. Bloody gives me the willies on a good day, he does. And _you_ got him in a downright state."

The demon walked toward Buffy, stopping just a foot away and studying her. "All this over you… I'm half tempted to just leave you be and sit back and see what happens. Not to mention I might be stepping on some feathery toes if I go along with this. For you to have gotten out, you must have some friends in high places. But I _am _King of the Crossroads. Wouldn't be holding up my position to turn down a deal like this. So, let's get this show on the road, shall we," he said, turning toward Jesse just in time to dodge the Scythe arching toward his head.

Jesse's eyes were narrowed and focused on the demon, twisting the Scythe in his hand as he prepared for another swing.

"Changed my mind," Jesse said.

"Obviously," it said with an eye roll. "You could've just said so, you know? Stupid humans all so dramatic all the time…"

And with a blink he was gone.

Jesse stared at the spot the demon had been in, then shoved the Scythe at her without looking up. She took it from him slowly, still shaking on the inside at her close brush with Hell. The Scythe felt good in her hands, better than it had in a long time. She couldn't help but wonder if it was just the fact that it had been out of her possession for a few days or if something had changed. Gripping it tightly, she glanced at Jesse again, unsure what to say. Deciding on nothing, she turned away and started back down the road.

"I hate you," he said from behind her.

"I know," she answered without turning around.

_Kill him_, the voice spoke up again. _He'll just keep coming after you. End it now._

No.

She'd made her choice. She'd be a better person. For Dean. She'd find every one of those missing pieces and she'd be for him what he was for her. She'd save _him_. Not from Hell, not from insanity, not like he did for her. She'd save him from losing any part of him that was so wonderful. This job had a way of wearing a person down, chipping them away, jading them. It was truly remarkable that Dean had retained the innocence he had given what he'd seen, and Buffy planned to keep it that way. It was the ones like that, the ones that believed in best, that trusted, that fell the hardest. She should know.

* * *

Fog churned around John's feet as he approached the warehouse he was supposed to meet Meg at. It was only nine thirty, the appointed meeting time was midnight, so it gave him time enough to prepare, check the place out. He guessed Meg would get there early too, though not this early. No need for a demon to prepare, at least in their mind, they were too cocky for that. She _would_ like to try to get the drop on John though.

Steam poured out of the pipes throughout the building, low corridors and multiple doorways made it both a blessing and a curse. Plenty of places to hide - for him _or_ a demon. After getting the feel for the building, John set about painting devils traps around it. As they'd patched up Bobby, they'd decided leaving the real Colt with Sam and Dean was the best bet. There was no way he was handing it over to a demon. Not after all they'd been through, not after all they'd lost. Jim and Caleb would kick his ass on the other side if he did that, it'd mean they died for nothing. The best thing he could do for those that had died and those that were in danger was to finish this and finish it soon. And for that to happen he needed that Colt.

So after he'd left Bobby's he'd called everyone he could think of that the demons might target and warned them. Not the best but all he could do given the circumstances. Not all of them were glad to hear from him and were even more pissed to hear they'd become a target because of him, but once they heard about Jim and Caleb, they all agreed on one thing - "You kick that things ass, John." And that's exactly what he planned on doing. It had taken three stops at specialty pawn shops to find an almost exact replica of the Colt. And damn if it wasn't a good one. This had two ways of going, either A) they take the gun, accept it as the real deal and kill him, leaving the boys time to get that yellow eyed sonofabitch before the demons figured out they had a fake or B) they found out it was a fake and killed him then went after Bobby and the boys.

Well, John didn't really plan on dying there today, but he was a realist. Knew that the likelihood of him walking away from this was slim. But he planned on taking down this Meg chick with him. So he painted devil's traps in black spray paint wherever he could hide them. Not in the main part of the warehouse, the emergency lighting in there was too good, she'd see it immediately and then be on the look out for them.

Time was ticking down, but John had one last thing to do. He smirked as he climbed the ladder to the large water tank on top of the building. He'd just finished blessing it when he heard her footsteps. Slipping behind the tank he waited, still and silent as she slipped into the warehouse, then quietly climbed down and went around the building to enter from the front.

She was waiting when he walked in, a petite little blond girl, he could see how Sammy'd been taken in by her. She certainly didn't look like what you'd expect a demon to look like. Then again, they never did.

"John, you made it. Too bad really, I was hoping to kill more of your friends," she said with a pout.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I can see where your boys get their good looks."

John gave as close to an eye roll as he would ever lower himself to give. Not really caring about demon compliments, but more than a little disgusted that she'd been looking at his boys in such a way.

"I must admit, given what they say about you I thought you'd be… taller."

John kept up his silence, just answering her antics with a flat stare. That was one of the problems Dean could never seem to overcome. Kid was a fantastic hunter but couldn't stop himself from engaging the target. Always had to throw back some smart ass comment. Get in, get it dead, get out - that was John's way of doing it.

"Well aren't you the chatty one," Meg sneered, obviously aggravated that he was unmoved by her words. "Wanna get to business? Fine. Why don't you hand over the gun?"

"If I give you the gun, how do I get out of here?"

"If you're as good as they say you are, I'm sure you'll figure something out," Meg answered, giving him a dangerous half smile.

"Maybe I'll just shoot you," John said, deciding to push back a little.

"You wanna shoot me? Go ahead. It won't end anything, there's more where I came from."

Even though he didn't show it, he didn't like how seriously she said that. Just how big of a deal was this Colt? How far would the demons really go to get it? From the way she was talking, they were willing to sacrifice an army of fodder if that's what it took.

Before John was really called out on his bluff to shoot her, another person entered the warehouse behind Meg. A man about John's height and looking to be in his early thirties wearing a brown t-shirt and leather coat came to stand not far from her.

"Who the hell's that?'

"He's not nearly as much fun as I am, I can tell you that. So I suggest you give us the gun."

Another demon then. Great. John eyed the newcomer warily. This complicated matters, but didn't really change anything. He'd just have to continue as he'd planned and hope for the best.

"NOW!" Meg shouted, obviously out of patience.

John pulled the gun out from under his jacket and handed it over to the girl. She spent a moment examining it before tossing it to her companion, asking for his opinion. The other demon turned it over in his hands slowly before bringing it up and shooting her in the chest.

Meg stumbled back a step, holding the bloody wound before looking up, half shocked, half furious. "You shot me! I can't believe you just shot me!"

"It's a fake," the other demon said simply, turning his cold eyes on John and tossing the gun to the side.

"You're dead John," Meg said, her fury shifting onto him. "Your boys are dead."

"Never used the gun, how could I know it wouldn't work," he asked feigning nervousness and backing away slowly. Time to get moving.

"I'm so not in the mood for this. I've just been shot."

"Then I guess you're lucky the gun wasn't real, huh?" John tossed back, still edging backwards.

"That's funny John. I'm gonna strip the skin from your bones, but that was funny."

John spun and took off, hearing the demons pursuing. Dodging down a few narrow corridors and dropping down into a lower level, he paused at one of the water valves. He needed to get them to split up and they wouldn't do that unless they had to look for him, so he needed to slow them down.

They dropped into the tunnel after him just seconds later. Turning the valve, he released the flow of holy water, sending it flooding over the floor toward the demons. John stuck around long enough for the male to get his feet burned and go scurrying backwards and to hear Meg's "Holy water, John? Real cute." He smirked at her before turning and taking off down the tunnel, satisfied in knowing they'd have to separate to search for him.

The next few five minutes felt like an eternity. Déjà vu to a time long past when he'd crept through the thick jungles of Vietnam and across enemy lines. Silent and unseen, a ghost delivering swift death to any he crossed and knowing the vengeance he delivered could be turned on him at any second.

The barest scuff of a shoe behind him clued him into his pursuer. Making himself a little more obvious, he led them into a utility room near the south exit of the building. He stopped in the middle of the room and waited. It didn't take long for the demon to follow him in. The sight of the guy was a little disappointing, he'd been hoping to take Meg out first. Despite her claim to the contrary, he got the feeling she was the more dangerous of the two.

He slowly circled to the left, pushing his opponent to counter to the right.

"Where's the gun?" It asked, much more to the point than Meg.

"Nowhere you'll get it," John said, his voice just as flat as the demon's.

"We'll see about that," it said simply, stepping toward him - directly into the devil's trap.

John smirked at the look of shock on the demon's face but wasted no words in taunting or victory, just recited the familiar Latin in a businesslike manner. Moments later, the smoke burst out of the room in a foul cloud. He sighed at the dead man laying in the circle before turning away, hoping he'd find Meg in another devil's trap somewhere else in the building.

His hope was for naught though, because she was right there in front of him when he turned around. The last thing he saw was her mocking grin before everything went black.

* * *

Dean paced the length of the study, watching the sun rise through the window. Something was wrong, dad should have called by now. It was bad enough that Buffy hadn't called, he fucking gave her that phone for a reason. But dad's meeting with the demon's should have went down six hours ago. More than enough time for him to call and let them know he was alright.

Unless he wasn't.

Bobby was dozing in the panic room and boy had he put up a fight about that. He had _not_ liked the idea of him being squirreled away in a hidey hole while Sam and Dean waited for a possible demon invasion. Dean had told him 'too bad', shot him full of morphine and he and Sam had promptly carried him down to the panic room (Dean luckily having the foresight to change the sheets after his and Buffy's little romp earlier).

Now they were just waiting. Fuck, how he hated waiting. Sam was sitting in a chair beside the door, shotgun on lap, looking just as patient and unruffled as anything. Bastard. That was another thing. What was going on with Sam? He'd been acting weird since he'd gotten back. Dean had even Christo'd him once in paranoia, earning him a hurt Sammy the Kicked Puppy look in return. He'd tried asking his little brother what was going on, but Sam just claimed it was too much John in one go. That after being away from him for so long, then being stuck in a truck with him for two days, it had just drained him.

That was a big fat fucking lie.

Dean knew perfectly well the subject of Sam's current angst was Buffy. But the _why_ was what was bothering him. Had dad said something? Changed Sam's mind about her? Or maybe it was that drunken confession about Buf being 'reallllllly hot'. Maybe Sammy was having feeling of the lusty variety. Well, that would be awkward...

_That way lies madness, _Dean thought with a shudder, steering his mind to safer waters.

Unfortunately, his thoughts landed on Caleb. He stopped by the window, leaning against the frame as the world outside was slowly inked in oranges and reds. Caleb was dead. _Dead_. It still wasn't registering. He'd been making plans to take Buffy to meet him so he could rub in Caleb's face how hot she was. He sighed heavily, bring up a hand to rub at his tired eyes. Sam's hand landing on his shoulder startled him and he glanced behind him to see his brother watching him with concern. He didn't bother shrugging off Sam's hand, just turned back to the window and leaned his head against the cool glass.

"You know, Buffy died once," Dean said, his voice fogging the pane. "I was… a freakin' mess man. You were gone, dad was… dad. But Caleb, he was fucking awesome. He was _always_ fuckin' awesome. Drank my first beer with Caleb. He gave me to the 'girl talk," Dean said with a huff of laughter, the expulsion of warm air glazing the window. He remembered the crude, and he did mean _crude,_ drawings Caleb had used to illustrate. Not embarrassed in the least and obviously getting a kick out of it, but knowing that John wasn't going to be sitting down with his kid to talk about the birds and the bees and that someone had to. "He covered for me with dad when I fucked up. He-"

"He was like you are to me?" Sam asked quietly.

Was he? No, not really. Maybe he could have been. If they hadn't led the life they led. Maybe if Caleb had been the cool neighbor guy or the family friend and not a fellow hunter. But the potential had been there. And it had been as close as Dean ever got to someone looking out for him. Sure, John taught him how to do all those things that kept him alive on a daily basis, watched his back when they were on a hunt, but he never cared about school work or girls or everyday life. He didn't really see Caleb that much, but when he did, he always asked those things.

"_How's school goin'?"_

"_You meet any hot chicks?"_

"_This work of art is called 'Busty Asian Beauties'. Learn it, know it, cherish it."_

"_Lay off him, John. You ride that kid too fuckin' hard."_

"_It'll get better man."_

Dean shoved away from the window, stepping away from Sam. His eyes burned and he clenched his jaw hard enough to make it ache. He pushed it all back down, digging for the bravado, the right words and tone to convince Sam he was fine.

Then Meg kicked the front door in.

Never had he been so glad to see a freakin' demon. Although, if all demons looked like _that_, he might have to change his tune. Small, cute and blond, she wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. He'd have to remember to make a comment to Sammy - he should have know she was a demon in the bar, because no way a chick that hot would approach Sam without being possessed. He smirked to himself, mentally filing that one away. Right now he needed to get his head in the game, because cute or not, she was looking seriously pissed.

"No more crap, okay?"

Yep, definitely pissed. Then it occurred to him, if she was here, where was dad?

He grabbed a flask of holy water from the desk and moved toward her, but he didn't get more than a few steps before he was hit by an invisible force, directed by a wave of her hand, and sent crashing through a pile of books and into the wall. The air whooshed out of him and his vision blanked out for a second.

"I want the Colt, Sam," he heard her say from what sounded like very far away. "The real colt. Right now."

After a brief struggle, Dean sucked in breath and forced his eyes to open again. He could see Sam backing out of the room into another one.

_Good boy, Sammy…_

"We don't have it on us. We buried it," Sam bullshitted as he led her into the trap while Dean struggled to his feet and followed after them.

"Didn't I say no more crap? I swear, after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I've gotta tell you - I'm a little under whelmed. First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun. And then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads," she said with distain, cockily following Sam into the other room without so much as a pause. "Lackluster, really. I mean, did you seriously think I wouldn't find you?"

"Actually, we were counting on it," Dean growled with a smirk from behind her. He waited until her eyes met his to look up to the ceiling above her - where a big fat devil's trap hung over her pretty little head.

Dean started off just asking her where dad was, giving her the opportunity to tell them before things got ugly, but of course she refused, while also insulting his mother at the same time. A big no-no in the Winchester book.

So they broke out the big guns - Sammy and his Latin. Not that they hadn't been planning on breaking out the exorcism all along, Dean was just hoping they could forgo using it as an interrogation method. But nothing could ever be simple, could it? She couldn't just tell them where dad was and then get a nice quick ticket back to Hell, no that'd be too easy for all of them. Instead she made them draw it out. And it was brutal.

"Where's our father?"

"You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask."

_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii… _

"Where is he?"

"He's dead."

_firmam petram, et portas inferi adversus eam nunquam esse…_

"Where IS he!"

"Dead!"

"He's NOT, he can't be! Keep going Sam…"

_Ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te…_

"One trip to Hell, coming up."

"He died screaming, begging to see his sons one more time."

_Da locum Christo, in quo nihil invenisti de operibus tuis…_

"Well, at least you'll get a chance to work on your tan."

"I'm going to kill you. I'm going to rip the bones from your body."

_Deus qui potestatem habes donare vitam post mortem, requiem post laborem…_

"You're all going to die. That little slut of yours too…"

"Well, you'll be in Hell, so you'll miss out on all the fun."

_Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos…_

"An apartment building!"

Dean held up a hand to stop Sam, finally they were getting somewhere. After a little more prodding, they got that dad was in Jefferson City, Missouri out of her, but nothing on Yellow Eyes and nothing more on the mention of Buffy.

"Finish it Sammy," Dean said turning away, convinced they'd gotten all they could.

When Sam didn't start up again immediately, he turned to see his brother watching him uncertainly. Dean raised his hands, palms up. What was he waiting for? Sam glanced back at Meg who was loudly complaining about the unfairness of it, how he'd promised he'd let her go, blah blah blah. Sam turned away from her and approached Dean, the two of them having a huddle by the door.

"She fell from a building, Dean. The only thing keeping the real girl's body alive is that demon. You exercise it, the girl's gonna die."

"So… what? You just want to leave it in there Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice incredulous. "There's a real person in there. Trapped. Has been for who knows how long with this thing in the driver's seat. Would you want to go on like that? Because I know I wouldn't."

Sam was quiet a moment as he looked back over at Meg before nodding and continuing with the exorcism. When it was done, Dean knew that the sight of the real Meg, blood dripping from her mouth, making small moans of pain and thanking him while crying was something that would stick with him forever.

She lived long enough to tell them that the demon had told the truth, that their dad really was in Missouri, but they wanted Sam and Dean to come for him. Another trap. Big surprise.

Then it was over.

Her dead eyes stared up at Dean. It felt accusing.

For some reason, he saw Buffy's face looking back at him for a moment_. _


	32. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Twenty**

Dean and Sam stood outside the Sunrise Apartment building, debating strategy. They'd stayed long enough to fill in Bobby and make sure he'd be alright. Neither of them liking the idea of leaving him alone but not having much choice. After Bobby'd smacked Dean in the head and thrown a book at Sam for sticking him in the panic room, he'd told them to get their idjit asses out of there and find their daddy or they'd be the next Winchesters he'd threaten to fill with buckshot. So, with heavy hearts, they'd set out after John.

They knew from what Meg had told them that dad was somewhere in the building, but they also knew that it was a trap. There was also the added problem of innocent people, which the building was surely filled with, some possessed some not. The best way they could figure to get the civilians out of the way was to pull the fire alarm. Then, when the fire department showed up, to steal a couple suits and slip into the building - camouflaged from the demons who would undoubtedly remain inside and would recognize them on sight.

Geared up head to toe in firefighter paraphernalia, the two searched the building quickly using the EMF reader to find demon central, where dad was no doubt under guard.

"I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up," Dean said, his voice muffled by the breathing apparatus over his mouth.

Sam followed behind him as they strode down the third floor hallway, eyebrows raised at the revelation.

"You never told me that."

Actually, it wasn't that Dean hadn't told him that surprised Sam. It was that Dean had any dreams of another life at all. Sam was always the one with the big plans for the future. Dean had always seemed content with his lot in life. He hunted, he took care of Sam and he watched dad's back. It was just the way things were and how they'd always be according to Dean. Except with that one comment, Sam realized that Dean _had_ had thoughts of more. If mom had lived, if dad hadn't taken the path of revenge, would Dean be a firefighter right now? And that brought on more questions. Had Dean ever thought of going to college? Did he dream of settling down? Having a house and kids? Maybe with Buffy? Sam swallowed hard at the thought that he didn't know any of these things. He'd always been so caught up in getting himself out that he never thought of Dean. Never thought he might be less than content with being dad's soldier forever.

The EMF's squeal brought Sam out of his thoughts and they stopped in front of apartment 33.

Show time.

Dean pounded on the door and called out, "This is the fire department, we need you to evacuate."

After a moment the door locks were flipped back and as soon as the door started opening the two of them burst in. There were two people inside and as soon as they were hit with the holy water Dean and Sam were carrying they started screaming and smoking, revealing themselves as demons. After some scrambling, they managed to manhandle the two into a closet and lined it with salt, effectively locking them in.

The suits were pulled off immediately now that they were no longer needed for cover, they were heavy and hard to move in. Not good demon fighting gear. A quick search of the apartment revealed John tied spread eagled on the bed. Sam's chest tightened at the way he was so still - there wasn't so much as a twitch when they walked in. Not even when Dean darted over to him and started checking him over did John stir. As much as they fought, as much as he pissed him off, Sam couldn't imagine his dad dying. Didn't want to. He was John freakin' Winchester, he couldn't die. Larger than life and twice as tough. It had never really occurred to Sam that he was really just a man until this moment. A man that had made many mistakes and a man he might never see eye to eye with, but one that he loved just the same.

"He's still breathing," Dean said, continuing to try and rouse their father.

Sam let out a gusty breath of relief, but spoke up as Dean made to cut away the ropes holding John captive.

"He could be possessed for all we know," Sam said, suddenly realizing there was another option for what he'd seen in his dream. What if Buffy had somehow sensed that John was possessed and that's why she attacked him?

"Are you nuts?" Dean asked, his face twisted in disbelief before he started working on the rope again.

"Dean, we've gotta be sure," Sam said, fighting to keep his voice calm. It was one thing for Dean to always follow dad's orders unquestioningly, it was another to think that he couldn't be possessed just because he was John Winchester. Digging in his bag, he found a flask of holy water and, after a glance at Dean, poured it over John's chest.

No fizzling, no smoking, no screaming.

Sam wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. If dad wasn't possessed, then he was back to square one on why Buffy would attack him. John let out a small moan and moved his head, slowly pulling heavy eyes open to slits.

"Sam?" He asked, his voice quiet and rough. "Why're you splashin' water on me?"

Dean gave out a sigh of relief and went back to working on the ropes, asking dad if he was okay as he worked.

"They've been drugging me," John said, his eyes falling closed again. "Where's the Colt?"

"Don't worry dad, it's safe," Sam assured him.

Dad gave them a half smile, his eyes still closed and muttered they were good boys, making Dean snort as he worked on getting him the rest of the way free. John floated in and out of consciousness as they hoisted him up and started toward the front door. They were almost there when two more demons showed up. Forcing them to retreat back to the bedroom and salt the doorway. Luckily there was a fire escape just outside the window, so aside from trying to get a drugged dad down the ladder, their escape was relatively easy.

_Too easy_, a little voice in the back of Sam's mind suggested. He shook it off - he'd been hanging around Dean too long if any part of him thought _that_ had been easy. They got dad situated in the back of the Impala where he promptly passed out, then got on the road.

"Where are we going?"

"I know a place not to far from here," Dean said, checking and double checking his mirrors, looking for a tail. "We need to get somewhere safe while dad recovers, we're sitting ducks right now."

Sam nodded and the car fell quiet, the only sounds that of dads rough breathing and Enter Sandman humming at low volume. The scenery whipped by and the city quickly faded behind them, late afternoon sun glaring from behind them. It was so falsely peaceful. The demons were still out there and probably pissed as hell that their trap had failed and they didn't get the Colt. The chirp and buzz of he phone in his pocket reminded him of another problem. Dean's name flashed across the screen and if his brother hadn't been sitting right next to wearing that wide-eyed hopeful look and trying to hide it, Sam would have just ignored it.

"It's you," Sam said, passing the phone over and trying not to look as anxious as he felt.

Dean gave a sigh of relief and snatched the phone from him, answering with a gruff, "Where the hell have you been?"

A low drone of a feminine voice answered that Sam couldn't make out, but he could tell by Dean's face that he was surprised. And pissed. Really pissed.

"He did _what?_ Are you shittin' me? That lousy _fucker_! Please tell me you killed that hillbilly sonofabitch."

Another indistinguishable answer on the other end and Dean looked at Sam, rolling his eyes. "Buf, he could come after you again… Yeah, well he could, too… Fine, but don't expect me be so noble if he pulls this shit again. I'll gank the sorry bastard."

There was an angry squawking from the other end and Dean's face turned petulant, "I know that you don't need me to- Yes, Buffy, I get it. Damn. But I'm just- Fine, fine. Where are you now?"

He shook his head and looked at Sam again, mouthing the word 'crazy'.

"What? I didn't say anything! I was thinking about directions!"

Sam couldn't help but to smile at his brothers antics. He'd never seen Dean like this before - this open and almost carefree. He felt a pang that his brother couldn't feel that way with him, but he knew that there was just too much history there. Dean had spent too much time being his guardian to truly ever be a friend. But there was comfort in that also, in knowing that Dean would always be his big brother, looking out for him, no matter what happened. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even hear the rest of their conversation, only coming back to the here-and-now when Dean waved his phone in front of his face.

"Anybody home in there, Sammy?"

Snatching the phone from Dean, he tucked it back in his pocket, hoping his sentimental thoughts didn't show on face. "So, what'd she have to say? I take it Jesse pulled something dirty and lost?"

"Fucker called up a crossroads demon! Tried to get her sent back to Hell!" Dean's hands tightened on the steering wheel and he shook his head. "Changed his mind at the last minute."

"Wait… 'back to hell'?" Sam asked, stuck on that phrase and not what had happened.

Dean stiffened and shot a closed look at Sam, "I didn't say that. You didn't hear me say that."

"Uh… yes, I did," Sam said, pushing the shock away. "You said she died, is that…"

"No, no. Dude, she's the freakin' Slayer. She fights evil, she went to Heaven when she died. She went to Hell to try and save someone," he said, his expression dark. Sam opened his mouth, filling to the brim with questions, but Dean cut him off before he could get any of them out. "I know that giant geek brain of yours is working overtime, but that's all I'm telling you and I shouldn't've told you that. Not my story to tell."

Sam wanted to protest, but knew it would be futile. He knew that stubborn set to Dean's jaw, it meant there'd be no answers coming. But he could also see where his brother was coming from - Buffy'd seen the best of the best and the worst of the worst, probably both traumatic experiences in their own way. Things she'd probably told Dean in the strictest confidence and not something to be gossiped about.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence as Sam pondered the existence of Heaven and the properties of Hell. Speculating what both must be like and how it would effect a person to have seen both and then come back to the mortal coil. Was it even possible to see such things and stay sane? He remembered seeing her that first time in the sewers in St Louis - too thin, too tired and those empty eyes. Maybe he should be worrying less about the vision and more about his brother just being around her…

Sam blinked out of his thoughts as the Impala came to a halt. The sun had set not long ago and the faint light of dusk showed him they were in the middle of nowhere. Thick trees almost blacked out the sky and through the open window there was nothing but dead silence. Uneasiness stirred in Sam, turning to outright dread when he laid eyes on the cabin.

The stirring suspicion in him turned to certainty as he and Dean helped the now mostly conscious John inside. The rustic décor was just as he'd seen it in his dream. This is where it would go down. His grip slipped away from his father, but the move was covered by John stepping away.

"'m alright," John said, speaking gruffly and moving stiffly away from them. "Just gonna lay down for a while if that's okay with you boys."

Both surprised at the light comment and the ease that dad admitted he needed some rest, they both nodded without a word and watched him shuffle off in concern. The place was small, a living room attached to a kitchen, a small bedroom and the bathroom. Pausing in the doorway, he told them to salt all the windows and the doors. Dean grabbed two canisters from the bag and tossed one to Sam. John waited until they were done and held his hand out.

"I'll get the one in the bedroom."

Dean handed his over and John disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind him. There was a rattle of the can and the sound of it being sat on the ground shortly followed by the creaking of an old mattress. Then it was silent.

They both shot loaded looks at each other. Maybe dad was worse off than he let on. Normally he'd be out here rehashing what had happened, asking about Bobby, making new plans. Sam mentally made a note to check on him in a little while, make sure he was alright, then lowered himself down on the old dusty couch with a sigh. Dean stood there a moment longer, staring at the door, before wandering off into the kitchen, digging through the shelves, looking for any food.

Sam closed his eyes for what he thought was just a minute, but when he opened them, dark had completely fallen outside. Standing, he stretched out the stiffness in his limbs, flinching at the sore spot at the small of his back where the Colt was resting and had probably left a gun shaped indentation. He spotted Dean sitting in a chair next to the window and went over to him.

"Gonna wag your tail and lick her face when she comes in, too?" Sam asked with a smirk, unable to stop himself.

Dean's face took a slight pink tinge. "I'm just looking for trouble, Sleeping Beauty."

Sam snickered and yawned, knowing perfectly well Dean was sitting there waiting for Buffy. Despite his teasing, there was an anxious knot that reasserted itself in his stomach at the reminder that Buffy was on her way and things were about to get ugly. Good mood erased, Sam went into the bathroom, trying to smooth out the pale, pinched look on his face when he saw himself in the mirror.

When he came back out, he went and inspected the kitchen - knowing there was nothing in there, but his growling stomach insisting he look anyway. There was probably a stale bag of chips in the Impala somewhere, but he wasn't sure he was quite _that_ hungry yet. While he was digging, Dean stood from his chair, stretching with a groan and drifting into the bathroom. Accepting defeat, Sam shut the last cabinet and turned away from the kitchen, only to find dad leaning on the bedroom doorframe watching him.

"Hey, you feeling any better?" Sam asked as he went back into the living room.

"Fine," John said, walking in behind Sam. "You boys sure you weren't followed?"

"Well, we don't think we were," Sam said, sitting on the arm of a chair as John leaned against the back of the couch. "We're pretty far out in the middle of nowhere, but it's really impossible to tell for sure."

John nodded, "You bring the Colt?"

Sam was pulling the gun out from under his shirt, when he realized something was wrong. The scene was too familiar. Dad leaning against the back of the couch, the yellow glow of the lamp, his point of view - it was coming…

Even though he'd been expecting it, Sam still jumped when the door came crashing in. Buffy stood there, wild eyed and furious just as she'd been in his vision. Her eyes slid over Sam like he wasn't even there before landing on John.

"You," she hissed, her voice rough.

Then she was lunging.

Sam dove at her, his huge frame slamming into her with all the delicacy of a freight train. They both went down in a tangle of limbs - the Scythe skittering across the floor in one direction and the Colt going in the other. Buffy struggled like a wild cat to get out from under him and Sam struggled to hold her down. Damn, she was fucking _strong_.

"What the hell?" He heard Dean yell from the doorway. "Sam, get off her!"

He heard his brother's booted feet sprinting toward them and would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so busy trying to keep Buffy from kicking his ass. He was the one keeping dad from being cleaved in two, but somehow _he_ was the bad guy. One of Dean's hands landed on his shoulder and the other twisted in his shirt as he yanked at Sam.

"Now, now children," dad said, his voice strangely mocking. "Enough rough housing."

They all froze at John's tone and turned to look at him in time to see John wave a hand, sending Sam and Dean across the room where they slammed into the wall and stuck there, pinned by an invisible force.

_Oh no… Nonononono…_

Sam's struggle to get the air back that was knocked out of him was secondary to the horrible realization of what had just happened. He stared at his father, not wanting to believe it, but John stared right back at him with a twisted grin and yellow eyes.

"Thanks for the save there, Sammy," the demon said in his father's deep voice. "Little miss Slayer here seems to have lost some of that moral leash that was choking her before her voyage to the center of the earth. She would have gone straight through dear old dad to get to me."

Sam didn't know what to think of that - he wanted to be relieved that he'd saved dad, but it was hard to be when he and his brother were pinned to the wall and Buffy was struggling to her feet, weaponless, all because of Sam's actions.

"You… but the holy water…"

"You think something like that works on something like me?" It asked with a cocky smirk, turning it's back on them and focusing on Buffy. Sam took the moment of distraction to try and pry himself from the wall, only getting his head to move about an inch before it snapped back against the wall.

"That is quite an annoying little talent you have there, dear," the demon was saying to Buffy. "I was hoping to have some more fun before they found me out."

Buffy was climbing to her feet, her face still furious, eyes burning, it was obvious she was seeing nothing but the demon in front of her.

"Aw, and I'm really sorry about that," Buffy said, her voice falsely sympathetic. "But I was more worried about the fun _I'm_ going to have kicking your ass."

"Now Buffy, don't be so testy. I gave you exactly what you asked for and I didn't even tell one little fib in doing so. Everything I told you was the 100 percent truth, what more can you ask for? Especially from a demon," Azazel said, not looking worried at all at the irate Slayer, but keeping his distance nonetheless. "I know why you're so upset! The boys got a surprise and you didn't, that'd be enough to make anyone cranky. But don't worry, I got you a surprise too, little lady. Let's see what's behind Door Number Two."

Sam was getting a very bad feeling about this - Azazel was practically vibrating with excitement, which definitely couldn't be a good thing. Sam didn't even have time to voice a warning as a shadowed figure came out of the bedroom behind Buffy, grabbing her arm and sending her crashing into the wall next to the window with a loud crack, landing next to the Scythe.

Dean yelled for her and started cursing furiously, fighting fruitlessly against his invisible restraints, but Sam's attention was focused on the newcomer. White eyes instead of the usual black stared at the Slayer, unmasked hunger on its face. The body it wore was that of a middle aged average man in a suit, but despite that, there was no humanity there at all. Pure malevolence leaked off of it, filling the room with its presence.

"Hello, Buffy Anne. I've missed you."

It's voice was drawling and accented slightly, reminding Sam randomly of the Godfather. Buffy was slowly pushing herself off the ground, one arm obviously broken and pulled to her chest, her other pressed to the ground as she pulled her knees under her. She froze at the sound of his voice, her face going dead white and her eyes going wide, pupils blowing wide in fear.

"Alastair…"

"And I was worried you'd forgotten me. One would think you didn't like me the way you ran off like that," it said, a smile tugging at its mouth as it strode toward her.

Dean was still struggling, yelling obscenities at the demon and trying to distract it. But it was useless, the thing was completely focused on Buffy and didn't spare Dean so much as a glance. Buffy was still seemingly frozen in a state of terror, but just before it reached her, she snapped her hand out and grabbed the Scythe. It wasn't fast enough though, the demon was in front of her in a blink, an immaculate dress shoe kicking her in the ribs and sending her crashing through the window into the dark outside. Dean was still fighting fruitlessly his voice going hoarse with the force and volume of his yelling, but it wasn't making any difference. The demon climbed calmly out of the window after her, still wearing that eerie smile. Sam noted with a sliver of relief that the Scythe was gone, too. He hoped that would give her a chance, because he didn't think Dean would ever forgive him if his actions here resulted in Buffy's death. He didn't think he'd ever forgive _himself_.

Azazel had watched the two with an almost fond amusement, but now shook his head and turned back to the boys. Watching Dean's struggles for a moment in interest before speaking.

"You know, this is fun. I could've killed you a hundred times today, but this… this is worth the wait. The look on her face when Alastair showed up…" He grinned widely. "I've always wanted to see that look on her. And his obsession with her is _fascinating_." He walked closer to Dean, stopping mere inches from him. "Alastair's tortured millions, billions probably, in his time. But Buffy, she has him _all_ worked up. He was beside himself when she escaped. Makes you wonder doesn't it, Deano? What happened between them down there? Can you imagine it? All the things he did to her?"

Sam felt sick and he could tell Dean wasn't coping well. His face was pale and his eyes feverish, entire body trembling with either with fury or the strain of trying to get free.

"I'm going to kill you," Dean growled out, his intense gaze locked on Azazel.

The demon just laughed though. "That'd be a neat trick. Hey, maybe Sammy can make the gun float to him! Go ahead, give it shot psychic boy."

Both sets of eyes landed on him and Sam stilled from his own subtle struggles. He'd completely forgotten about his 'ability'. Turning his eyes on the Colt, he gave it his all, pouring his energy into trying to get it to move. There was nothing, not so much as a twitch.

The demon laughed, "Your dad, he's in here with me, by the way. Trapped inside his own meat suit. Says 'hi'. He's going to tear you apart. He's going to taste the iron in your blood."

"Let him go," Dean whispered, his voice giving out after all his angry yelling. "Or I swear to God-"

"What? What are you and _God _gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice. Know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter. John did one of his own, that was my boy. You understand?"

"You've gotta be kidding me…"

"What? You're the only one that can have a family? You sent my children back to Hell. How would you feel if I killed your family? Oh, that's right, I did. I forgot," it laughed. Anger boiled in Sam's veins and he tried to get the Colt again, with the same result. "Maybe I'll stick around long enough to see what old Alastair does to your little Slayer. Let you see what she's like when he's through with her body. He'll be taking her soul back to Hell with him, I'm sure. Probably taking more precautions against the feathered fuck-offs from up above interfering this time to make sure she's his forever. But it would be interesting to see what he does to her here…"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dean said, his voice quiet and sharp as a blade. "I wish I could have seen your face when I sent that bitch daughter of yours to the pit. I did it real slow, too. Took my time. She screamed. Begged-"

Dean's baiting worked and Alastair went still while Dean's eyes went wide, his words replaced by a cry of pain. Blood blossomed on his t-shirt, more and more until it was running down his front in rivulets.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, fighting against his bonds and trying to get the Colt to move.

"Dad! Don't you let it kill me!" Dean gritted out, his eyes locked on yellow ones.

Blood bubbled out of his mouth and worked its way down his chin. Sam felt a helpless sob clawing its way up in his chest. Dean was going to die. Buffy was going to die. And it was all his fault.

"Dad, please…" Dean said quietly, pleading eyes filled with tears and pain before they slipped closed and his head fell limply to the side.

Sam yelled for his brother again, all other thoughts except getting to Dean flying out of his head. Nothing mattered but Dean. He couldn't die. He couldn't!

"Stop," John begged suddenly, his voice soft and anguished. "Stop it."

Sam heard the imploring voice of his father, but it barely registered over the fact that he was suddenly free. He dove for the Colt, bringing it up just as his father spun on him, Azazel back in control.

"Kill me and you kill your daddy," it said, not looking at all concerned.

"I know," Sam said, dropping his aim and shooting, grazing John's leg with the Colt's bullet.

There was a spark of mystical electricity around him and John crumpled to the ground, Dean falling from his position against the wall a split second later. Sam went to his brother immediately, slipping down to his knees next to Dean. The amount of blood he'd lost made panic choke off Sam's air, but Dean was still breathing, his eyes cracked and watching him.

"Dad… go check on him…"

"Dean…" That was his brother, even like this, he was still worried about someone else.

"Go check on him…"

Giving in Sam went over to John, he looked tired and he was breathing. The wound on his leg bleeding pretty steadily, but not life threatening.

"Dad? Dad?"

"Sammy!," John gasped his eyes snapping open. "It's still alive It's still inside me, I can feel it. Shoot me! You shoot me in the heart, son! Do it now!"

Sam stared at his father in shock, hearing the words but not really comprehending them.

"Don't you do it Sam," Dean said in a fierce whisper from behind him.

"You gotta hurry! I can't hold onto it much longer," John said, gritting his teeth. "Shoot me son! Shoot me! I'm begging you, we can end this here and now. Sammy!"

"Sam no…"

Sam had the gun aimed at his father, thinking of his mom, thinking of Jess. But still, he wasn't able to do it. Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn't carry the weight of his father's death by his hand. Couldn't bear the thought of Dean never forgiving him because of it.

He lowered the gun.

His father gave him a crushed look and gave up his fight, letting the demon burst out of him in a sickening mass of oily back smoke.

He went on autopilot after that. Tucking the Colt away in the waistband of his pants and carefully hauling his critically injured, bleeding and mostly unconscious brother out to the Impala. Then coming back for a silent, fuming and defeated John. It was only when he was about to leave that he remembered Buffy with a heart stopping moment of panic. Scrambling back out of the Impala he ran around to the side of the house where the window she'd gone out of led to.

It was a mess back there. Tree's were canted at odd angles, earth torn up, random splatters of blood, but no Buffy and no demon. He listened but didn't hear anything. They could be anywhere out there. She could be dead, she could be in Hell, she could be out there bleeding and needing help and there was no way to tell.

"She can take care of herself," dad's voice came from behind him, making him jump and spin around. "Your brother needs a doctor, Sammy. Now."

Sam swallowed down his guilt and nodded. Slipping himself under John's shoulder and ushering them back to the car with a mental promise to come back after he had the other two situated at the hospital. He'd come back with the Colt, there were still two bullets left, enough for both Azazel and this Alastair demon.

Bad Moon Rising came on the radio as he sped down the dirt drive and slid onto the main road. His dad grunted in discomfort as the move shifted his injured leg.

"Just hold on alright, hospital's only ten minutes away," Sam said, pushing the car faster.

"I'm surprised at you, Sammy," John said after a beat of silence. "Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye to eye on this. Killing this demon comes first. Before me, before everything. Buffy understood that, she was willing to do what it took to get rid of this thing, I expected the same from you."

"No sir, not before everything," Sam said, not regretting his decision as he looked at his injured brother in the rearview mirror. He opened his mouth to say more when the sight of fast approaching headlights appeared in the back window behind Dean. Watching them warily, he pressed on the gas harder, but still the car gained on them.

"Shit," John said, twisting in his seat and watching the car with the same apprehension Sam felt.

Then the lights flashed rapidly at him and he heard the blaring of a horn over CCR. Unsure what to do, he inadvertently let his foot off the gas. The other car took the opportunity to speed past him, only giving him a glimpse of sleek black before it cut hard in front of him. It was only when he saw Bitchmonger splashed across the back that he knew who it was. Relief stole through him in a wave, he had felt horrible about leaving her behind, especially when he caused this whole mess in the first place by not trusting her. His relief was short lived though, because she suddenly slammed on the breaks. Sucking in a sharp breath, he cursed and stood on his own break pedal, forcing John to brace a hand on the dash to keep from going out the windshield and feeling Dean impact with the back of his seat with a grumpy, slurred "The fuck, Sam?"

Then the semi plowed into the side of the Camaro.


	33. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Author's Note**: Skipping back in the timeline a bit here to pick things up from Buffy's POV.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Buffy sighed for the fifteenth time in bliss and wiggled her butt around in the driver's seat. The Camaro seemed happy, too, the way it rumbled away like a large purring jungle cat. She'd made a little detour and stopped off for it after leaving Georgia, she left the Chevelle in its place with a plan to drag Dean back with her and make him drive the ugly thing back to Bobby. Not that she wasn't grateful. She was. Mostly. But this car just seemed to fit her like a glove. All those years everyone thought she was such a bad driver when all she'd needed was the right car. She felt bad for it when she thought of all the horrible homes it'd had so far - some Jersey douche with delusions of hording bitches, then that skeevy vampire with the Howard Stern hair. She gave a shudder.

"I'm a much better owner, aren't I?" She said, patting the dash lightly. She'd always teased Dean about his relationship with his car, but now that she'd met the Impala and driven the Camaro, she knew how he felt.

The sun was gone and the air was cooling so Buffy rolled up her window, cutting off the rush of air. She should be at the cabin Dean had given her directions to within the hour. Her heart skipped a beat in giddy anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. Even though it had only been a few days, it felt much longer. His presence was addictive and she wondered how she'd gone without him for so long. Warmth and security radiated off him, and something else, something that felt like freedom despite the way he was chained to his father's revenge and responsibility for his brother. Dean had a way of making anything seem possible, like everything was going to be okay.

Hotel California came on the radio and she cranked it up, singing along as the deepening night crept in around her, the thick wooded scenery nothing more than a blur. She was just getting to her favorite part about stabbing the beast with their steely knives (she figured it was a slayer thing, beasty stabbiness appealed to her in all forms), when the radio flickered and a spidey tingle worked its way down her spine, cutting off her singing immediately. It took a moment to place the familiar skin crawling feeling, but when she did, rage exploded in her.

Azazel.

He was here. Nearby. Near the Winchesters. Her hand shot out, shutting off the radio and dousing the car in silence as she pressed the gas pedal down harder. She didn't see the drive in time to make the turn, but instead of wasting time backing up and pulling in, she just canted the Camaro in next to the tree line a little past the driveway, grabbed the Scythe and took off - her senses leading her straight to the cabin and Azazel.

Rational thought had ceased, there were no plans of surprise, no tactics, just plain old demon murder filled Buffy's mind. The Scythe hummed dangerously in her hand, seemingly excited to get another chance at Azazel but wary of its master's mindset. A low burning was working its way into Buffy's hand through the handle, but she didn't even notice.

The door flew open under the assault of her boot, the sound of splintering wood loud in her ears. Her eyes took in the room automatically, seeking. They took no notice of the details or its other occupants, they just found the demon. The anger was harsher now, amplified by the familiar evil vibes she got in his presence. The fact that the demon was in John Winchester didn't really register - an inconsequential fact. The Scythe hummed harder and the pain in her hand increased. She ignored it.

"You," she hissed, speaking the word without unclenching her teeth.

Then she was moving, pulling the Scythe up and already picturing it sinking into the bastard in front of her, ending the demon's miserable existence. So intent on her target, the impact from the side took her totally off guard. She hit the ground hard, her head bouncing off the wood floor and the Scythe flying out of her hand. She turned her focus on the thing on top of her, ready to kill it as well. She barely stopped herself in time, some part of her self bursting through the fog of her anger and screaming that it was Sam.

What the hell did he think he was doing? She fought him off, trying to get free without hurting him, but was having little luck. His freakishly long limbs seemed to be everywhere at once and he weighed a freaking ton. Dean definitely hadn't scrimped on getting Sam his Wheaties when they were growing up.

"What the hell, Sam? Get off her!"

Dean's voice brought back a level of clarity, calling through the haze of fury. Her struggles against Sam slowed as she saw booted feet run over and felt Sam's weight being peeled away.

"Now, now children. Enough rough housing."

Sam and Dean were suddenly ripped away, each slamming into a wall, pinned like frogs waiting to be dissected. John's voice was a surprise to her and she looked at him from her position on the floor in shock. She'd been ready to kill him, Dean's father, just to get at Azazel. And if she was going to be perfectly honest with herself, she was _still_ ready to kill him, she was just aware of it now - which somehow just made it worse. Fury and self loathing mashed together and rolled around in her as she watched the demon banter with Sam. It's comment about her moral leash not choking her anymore struck home and she flinched away from the truth of the statement. Her earlier promise to become a better person was still there, struggling to overcome her thirst for revenge, but the weight of her anger, fed by images of killing Angel and Dawn's death, blanketed it and left it fighting for the surface like a kitten caught in a flood.

She was pulling herself to her feet when he turned his attention back on her.

"That is quite an annoying little talent you have there, dear. I was hoping to have some more fun before they found me out."

"Aw, and I'm really sorry about that," she said, giving him a falsely sympathetic smile while her hand itched for the Scythe. "But I was more worried about the fun _I'm_ going to have kicking your ass."

"Now Buffy, don't be so testy. I gave you exactly what you asked for and I didn't even tell one little fib in doing so. Everything I told you was the 100 percent truth, what more can you ask for? Especially from a demon," he said, his voice mocking, enjoying the moment. The words poked at raw wounds and it just pissed her off all the more knowing that it was her own stupidity that had caused this whole mess. It was easy to dump the blame off on Azazel, but she knew it was her fault even more than it was his. It didn't change the fact she was going to end him though.

"I know why you're so upset! The boys got a surprise and you didn't, that'd be enough to make anyone cranky. But don't worry, I got you a surprise too, little lady. Let's see what's behind Door Number Two."

Buffy heard the words, but wasn't really listening them. Azazel liked to hear himself talk and she was more focused on calculating whether she could get to the Scythe before he could lay the whammy down on Sam and Dean than whatever crap he was rambling on about.

The hand on her arm, the sharp snap of bone and her flight through the air were sudden and shocking. The memory of her first encounter in Hell with Alastair suddenly so vivid in her mind that vertigo sent her vision tumbling sideways and left her short of breath. Or maybe it was just the impact with the wall. Either or.

"Hello, Buffy Anne. I've missed you."

Her heart froze and fear broke over her insides like a wave, coating her lungs and drowning her, sharpening her vision and shaking it in time to her heartbeat while sending a cold sweat out over her skin. Her muscles locked down and begged her to run at the same time while her mind skidded to a halt, blank except for the fear and one word.

"Alastair…"

"And I was worried you'd forgotten me. You'd think you didn't like me the way you ran off like that."

Part of her laughed insanely. How could she have ever thought she'd be free of him. She'd been so worried about dying and getting sent back there, why hadn't it ever occurred to her that _he_ might come _here_ for her? She could hear Dean's voice, yelling, but it was dull background noise over the avalanche of bloody pain filled memories and the dreadful litany in her head - "I'm going back, I'm going back, I'm going back, I'm-"

Dean yelled her name, the desperate edge to his voice pulling her out of her panic. Light glinted off of the Scythe in front of her.

She was _not_ going back.

Her hand flashed out, fingers barely wrapping around the familiarly warm handle before the impact with her ribs sent her through the window. She hit the ground hard, grunting and gasping in the cold pine scented air as her broken arm was jarred and newly broken ribs shifted under her skin. Glass rained down around her and crunched beneath her, but the only thing she focused on was keeping the Scythe in her grasp.

The night sky blended with the dark trees above her, she blinked at it blankly for a moment as she tried to regain lost breath. Just as she was willing herself to move, Alastair's face appeared in front her, his hand reaching out and gripping the front of her shirt, yanking her up and dangling her a few inches off the ground. The fact that he was wearing someone's body didn't matter, she could see Alastair clearly in every expression, every movement, every gesture.

She growled and swung the Scythe. Alastair shoved her back hard, making her miss as her feet landed on the ground awkwardly and she stumbled back into a tree. Then he was right there in front of her again, moving so fast she hadn't even seen it. One hand pinned the arm holding the Scythe, making sure not to touch it, the other pressed into the tree next to her head while his larger body pinned hers. She twisted and strained trying to get away but it was like struggling against a wall. Suddenly he laughed, a dark and dangerous sound that made goose-bumps erupt on her arms.

"You keep rubbing yourself against me like that, this is going to take a whole new turn," he said leaning in close so his hot rancid breath brushed her ear. She froze, bile rising in her throat as he buried his nose in her hair. "Do you see? How pointless it is, fighting me? You'll never get away from me. Not in life, not in death, I'll always find you. You're mine."

The hopelessness those words instilled was amplified by how trapped and weak she felt right then. Panic thrashed inside her as her renewed struggling did nothing but make him chuckle again, his body pressing hers against the tree harder and more suggestively.

"You think you're meant to be here? With these people? Do you think you're like them? You and I know that's not true. Not anymore. Even your little toy knows it," he said, pulling his head back to look in her face, smirking as he nodded toward the Scythe. "You're not the same, I've changed you. You think that thirst for blood will just-"

She interrupted his monologue with a head-butt. While the words were sharp and cut deep, it was nothing she hadn't already thought herself and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing him how much she worried about it. The blow caught him sufficiently off guard enough to twist out of his grasp and take a swing at him with the Scythe. The angle was wrong and he was only hit in the shoulder with the flat side of the blade, but the effect was still incredible.

A completely nonhuman roar erupted from his throat and the shadowy features she remembered so well from Hell were suddenly visible, overlaying the human face beneath. The arm she'd hit smoked from the shoulder down, thick dark smoke rolled off the limb, turning to ash in the air and sprinkling down on the ground. She was so mesmerized by the sight, she never saw the fist. Her head snapped to the side and she stumbled. A kick caught her in the chest before she could get her bearings and she slammed into another tree, feeling it give beneath the force as blackness tried to encroach on her vision. But still she held onto the Scythe.

"Don't hold back on me now, little Slayer. Are you afraid of damaging the meat suit? Don't be. I'll let you in on a little secret. One doesn't just walk away after I've sat in the driver's seat. The soul is destroyed the moment I take possession. Only room for one sheriff in this town, " Alastair said, his good humor returning as he stalked toward her. "You want to do this the hard way, it's fine by me. I'm looking forward to the chance to show you how powerless you really are. There are things in motion here that you can't even imagine and nothing you do is going to change a thing."

Another blow sent her tumbling backwards, further into the dark woods surrounding the cabin. The dance continued and Buffy was getting frustrated. She was breathing hard, bleeding, sore and desperately trying to fight off the hopelessness that she knew he was working to instill. Alastair was being more careful now, making sure to keep one eye on the Scythe at all times. He wasn't leaving any openings and her offense was crippled do to her broken arm and the fact that she didn't want to let go of the Scythe. He was wearing her down.

"So you've gotten attached to those Winchesters, have you?" He asked like he was making small talk. "Is that why you keep fighting? Because that's another hopeless cause, Buffy Anne. The wheel's already turning and its going to crush them."

The next fist she was able to dodge, and she edged backwards, trying not to get cornered by him again. He let her go, just watching with interest while she tried to regain her figurative and literal footing. His constant references to the Winchesters was making her worry. What exactly was going down? And was he right? Was she powerless to stop it?

Alastair darted forward suddenly, and seeing an opening, she went for it. Swinging the Scythe in a wide arc and only realizing at the last second that she'd done exactly what he'd wanted her to. Expecting the move, he ducked under the blow and crashed into her, sending them both to the ground. His weight settled on her knees, pinning her, while one hand held down the arm holding the Scythe and the other wrapped around her throat. The pressure increased and tiny pinpoints of light flashed at the edges of her vision as she struggled.

"Don't worry, this won't be the last you see of the Winchesters. At least one of them will end up on my rack. It's already been written - fated to be. I'm going to break them, and you're going to help me."

Fate. Destiny. She hated those words and the chains they represented. More than evil, more than Alastair, more than Azazel, more than anything. She'd lived under the weight of those chains for what seemed like forever. They pulled her down, choked the life out of her, tightening and pulling until she was crushed and stretched to thin.

Well, Fate and Destiny, Alastair and the Powers that Be could all kiss her ass, because there was no way she was letting them have Dean.

She reached forward with her broken arm, gritting her teeth against the pain she grabbed the front of Alastair's shirt and yanked him toward her instead of shoving him back. Expecting to be pushed away, he'd already been pressing down, so when she pulled he came easily, eyes widening for a second before a dark look replaced his surprise. Disgust filled her as his eyes, only an inch away from her own, darkened and the body he wore had a very human reaction to being pressed in so close to her. The hand on her throat let up and she smirked, leaning in so she was just a hair away from him.

They weren't in Hell anymore and she wasn't playing by his rules.

"You're on my turf now, Ass Hair," she whispered.

She didn't have time to enjoy his confused expression before she heaved herself against him, twisting and pulling her legs up from underneath him, putting every ounce of strength she could into shoving him off of her. For one horrible moment, he didn't budge, but then his grip disappeared and his feet slid in the moist dirt. She pulled her legs up further, taking advantage of the new space between them and planted her feet squarely on his chest, kicking out as hard as she could. He flew back, hitting the trunk of a nearby tree hard enough to crack the wood and she was on him immediately. All the fear, the pain, the exhaustion of before was now replaced by anger and determination. No way was Alastair getting his hands on Dean and no way was she letting some crappy destiny crush him.

Buffy swung the Scythe at him and he dropped, the blade burying itself in the tree where his head had been. She snapped her foot out, catching him in the face while he was hunkered down and sending him sprawling on his back in front of her while she ripped the blade free from the trunk.

"You can't win," he gasped. "You can't stop it."

"Watch me."

Then she brought the Scythe down, sinking it deep in Alastair's chest. His eyes went white and his mouth opened in a silent scream. The oily black smoke once again forming his true face over that of the man's, soon followed by the rest of the body until the huge smoky form of the creature she'd seen in Hell writhed on the ground before her. Then, as quickly as it had emerged, it was gone. Fading away to burning ash and leaving nothing but a dark imprint on the ground and a human corpse behind.

The Scythe was silent and still in her hands but she was shaking. Both with an overload of adrenaline and with relief. Granted, she far from an expert on the working of the Scythe but she was pretty certain there'd be no coming back for Alastair. At least that's what she was going to convince herself of to get to sleep at night.

Not sure what to do about the body and too tired to really care, she turned back to the cabin. Except it wasn't there. She turned again. And again. But there wasn't even a glow from the windows in the distance. Anxiety prickled at her - Azazel was still there with the Winchesters. She needed to get back. Now. She tried to follow their path of destruction, but it was too varied and random, so she took her best guess at a direction and set off at limping jog. The broken ribs and arm protested the jarring, but she ignored them the best she could. The cold night air burned her sinuses and one nostril was annoyingly clogged. She paused, wishing for a tissue in vain before leaning forward and pressing a finger to the clear nostril then blowing hard. A stream of blood and snot splattered on the ground at her feet, making her grimace as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. This was her, Buffy Summers, one classy lady. Her mother was probably rolling in her grave.

A few minute later she could see a clearing beyond the trees and sighed in relief, thinking she was nearing the cabin - only to end up on the road that ran in front of it. She rolled her eyes in aggravation and looked around. The Camaro was of to her right, so just beyond it must be the driveway. She started forward again, moving stiffly now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She was just about to the car when she heard the familiar roar of an engine and the Impala came skidding out of the drive on to the road, heading away from her. She could barely make out the silhouette of three heads inside before the dark swallowed all but the red lights.

She blinked at the shrinking tail lights in shock for a moment. What the hell? Had they just left her? Dean wouldn't leave her… That certainty was like a punch to the gut - because that meant that Dean wasn't calling the shots. He was either incapacitated… or worse. She swallowed hard and darted for the Camaro, jumping in the driver's seat, whipping the car around in a squealing one-eighty and chasing after them. Whatever had happened in that cabin, the Winchesters were in that car now, and they were either rushing somewhere or running from something. Buffy knew Azazel though, and if they'd managed to get away from him, there was a backup plan in motion. Azazel thought ten steps ahead, he wouldn't have confronted them without a Plan B and probably a Plan C, D and E.

She pushed the Camaro faster than she ever had before, eyes focused on the taillights in front of her as she closed the gap. The flashing of distant lights off through the trees caught her attention. There was another vehicle approaching at an angle on what must be another road. Probably not visible to anyone without Slayer enhanced sight - that meant that whoever was driving the Impala didn't have a clue that someone or something was set on a collision course. It could have been nothing, just another driver, but the prickling at the back of her neck told her otherwise. She cursed and pressed the gas harder. The car responded with ease, jumping forward and flying over the ground in a way that would have freaked her out if she hadn't been so focused on preventing disaster. Her eyes jumped back and forth between the Impala that was slowly getting closer and the flickering headlights that occasionally appeared through the thick trees, they were steadily getting bigger and brighter. She'd hopped they would have seen the danger by now, but apparently they were distracted up there and not paying close attention to their surroundings. Hoping to warn them, she started flicking her lights on and off, then leaned on the horn.

_Almost… just a little closer…_

The Impala suddenly dropped back and for a fleeting second Buffy thought maybe they'd seen the danger, but the break lights didn't come on. Cursing she pulled into the other lane, whipping past and then in front of them. She had enough time to think "Sorry 'Maro" as she slammed on the brakes, cutting the Impala off from its course of destruction before the semi lights filled the interior. There was a split second of blinding light, the sound of breaking glass and crunching metal loud in her ears.

Then there was nothing.


	34. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

The only sound inside the Impala was the harsh breathing of its three occupants, their wide eyes glued to the wreckage. The semi had broadsided the Camaro on its passenger side, pushing it into a grassy clearing with a horrible screech of twisting metal and shattering glass.

"Dammit… Dammit," Dean whispered, getting progressively louder and more upset. "Dammit!"

Sam heard him scrambling to get the door open behind him, but his eyes were still glued to the disaster in front of him. It wasn't until he heard his brother actually get the door open and his dad's urgent "Dean, wait!" that Sam's senses came back to him and he jumped out of the car with the other two.

He tried to see in as they rushed to the car, but blood had coated the driver's widow, masking any movement that might have been inside. Dean was a mess, deathly pale and covered in his own blood, but you'd never know he was injured from the way he ran to that car. Wild, bright eyes took in the blood and the crushed metal and a low moan of dread escaped him as he hurried to pull the driver's side door open. It took him a couple of frantic tugs, but it finally came loose with a squeal of metal on metal, one of the hinges breaking and leaving it half hanging from the car. They all froze at the sight it revealed.

"Fuck," John whispered, pretty much summing it up.

Buffy was face down against the steering wheel, blond hair turned red with blood curtaining the side of her face from view. The arm closest to them dangled limply out of the car now that the door had opened and the other lay on the dash, palm up cradling some of the broken glass, thin blood splatter fingers in curled slightly.

"Oh God," Dean breathed, dropping to his knees in the grass and reaching forward so slowly, so carefully that tears blurred Sam's vision at the tender sight of him easing her back from the steering wheel. "Fuck… Buffy, hey, can you hear me? Come on, Buf, rise and shine."

The curtain of red matted hair fell back, revealing her face and Dean let out a choked off sob, reaching a shaking hand up to her cheek. The entire side of her face was covered in blood, where it was coming from was impossible to tell. A deep cut slanted across the eyebrow on the other side adding to the mess. Given the amount of swelling around the eye, Sam guessed that was where she'd impacted with the steering wheel. Blood was smeared under one nostril and ran between her slightly parted lips, a thick slow river of red creeping down and dripping steadily from her chin. But she was breathing - labored, wet sounding, struggling breaths, but breaths just the same.

"We need an ambulance," Dean said, staring at Buffy and then rounding on them and shouting. "We need a fucking ambulance!"

Sam jumped and searched his pockets for his phone while Dean's attention swung back to Buffy, speaking to her in a low indistinguishable voice meant for her ears only, a soothing rumble. As Sam finally located his phone, he cast a quick glance over to dad, checking on how his leg was holding up. The look on his father's face was one he'd never seen before. Compassion and heartache. There was also acceptance there. If there was one thing John Winchester really knew, it was how it felt to loose the woman you love, to watch her be taken from you and to be able to do nothing to stop it. Sam wondered if maybe he was finally accepting that Mary's importance to him might equal that of Buffy's importance to Dean.

Sam had the "9" dialed into his phone when the creak of a door and movement from the semi pulled his attention away. At first he was relieved to see the driver up and moving about - he'd stupidly forgotten about him and hadn't even considered going to check on him. It was John's curse that clued him in to the fact something was wrong. That's when he saw the man's glittering black eyes.

The possessed driver was making a bee line for them when another pair of headlights suddenly illuminated the scene. They all stopped and looked toward the new addition, even the demon, none of them sure what to do about the intrusion. The car stopped at the side of the road and three young men got out, the lack of urgency in their movements on the scene of such a crash spiked Sam's unease. A moment later they were close enough to make out their black eyes and Sam's suspicions were proven correct.

Great. Four demons against him, his gunshot wounded father, his barely conscious brother and an out of commission Slayer. This should be fun.

Dean stood hunched over and wavering, but protectively blocking Buffy. Dad was closest to the driver and the three new demons were coming up on Sam's side.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,"_ dad started, his voice low and flat.

Those Latin words were like the sound of a starting gun. The driver dove at John and the other three came at Sam. Sam met them head on, just grateful they weren't going after Dean. His relief didn't last long though, because just before they collided, one of the demons peeled off from the group, aiming for Dean. Sam watched in fear as his brother straightened from his pained hunch, ready and waiting. His inattention cost him though as the other two demons tackled him to the ground - a mess of tangled limbs, cursing, punching and kicking ensued. From a brief glance under one of the demon's arms, he saw Dean go down and stay down near the front of the Camaro.

Squeezing through a gap in the bodies and shaking off grabbing hands, Sam lurched to his feet, promptly taking a punch to the jaw from the third demon who'd suddenly rejoined the fray. Off balance, Sam stumbled into the rear fender of the Camaro, but he was finally free of the demon dog-pile, so he reached for the Colt. He didn't like the idea of using it, there were only two bullets left and one had Azazel's name on it, but maybe he could scare them with it at least.

Except when his hand slid under his shirt, it wasn't there. The Colt was gone. They must have grabbed it when they were rolling around on the ground.

The glare of the Scythe caught his eye from inside Camaro, cutting off his internal panic. It was crushed against the console in the wreck but looked undamaged. Mentally apologizing to Buffy, he leaned in over her and grabbed it. He jerked his hand back in surprise at the low shock of pain that shot up his arm at the contact. Maybe it wasn't meant to be used by anyone but a Slayer? A gasp of pain from his father had him grabbing it again anyway, ignoring the uncomfortable burn and yanking it out of the car. He caught the reflection in the crumpled black paint of a demon coming up behind him as he straightened and swung the Scythe around. It hummed eerily as it sliced through the air, nicking the demon's arm as it jumped back. Thick black smoke rolled out of the gash, churning before turning to ash and sprinkling on the ground. It clapped a hand over the wound, growling like an animal at Sam and backing away. Dad had the driver pinned to the ground, but the other two demons froze and retreated from the Scythe as well. Then they took off to the car they'd arrived in, jumping in and burning rubber as they sped off into the night.

"What the hell?" Sam asked in confusion. He'd been hoping to scare them off, but was honestly surprised that it worked.

"They got what they came for," the demon driver said, twisting his head so he could smirk at Sam. "Missing anything?"

It didn't wait for an answer before bursting out of the driver in a cloud of smoke, disappearing into the night sky.

"Sam?" Dad asked, slowly climbing off of the driver.

"The Colt," Sam admitted, still staring off into the night where the demons had disappeared. "They took the Colt."

* * *

Azazel sat back and waited, legs crossed and hands folded on his knee as he sat on the steps inside an abandoned warehouse. The scent of blood and fear surrounded him and he breathed deeply, reveling in it. The huge space was littered with bodies, their blood used to paint out ancient symbols seemingly at random. He frowned at the mess - usually he liked to take his time in such matters, taking care in the preparation and having the scene of the ritual be nice and orderly. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time for that this time around. He needed his children back immediately. They had to move now, while the Slayer was incapacitated and the Winchesters were distracted.

The sound of the old rusted door being opened echoed across the open space and moments later a short dark haired woman came sauntering across the carnage, splashing through the blood without a thought.

"Is it true?" She asked immediately when she stopped in front of him - eyes wide and dumbstruck. "Is Alastair gone?"

"Yes, dear, it's true. That little Buffy," he said, shaking his head and smiling fondly. "She's just full of righteous fury. A real force to be reckoned with. She's down for the count at the moment though, that's why we need to move now. Your brother will be here shortly and then its time to get down to business."

"You have it then?"

Azazel pulled the Colt out from under his jacket, admiring the way the feeble light from the filmy windows glinted off it.

"And how are we getting in?"

"That would be where I come in," a voice said from the shadows said, walking out to join them.

Meg looked to the newcomer, eyes widening. Then she looked to Azazel who was smirking at her. A smile crept across her face and she burst out laughing. Azazel joined her. It really was too good. Nothing would stop them now.

* * *

The air was sharp with scent of disinfectant and something else, something purely hospital that made Dean's nose burn and his lip curl. His eyes itched with the urge to sleep and his body ached from the inside out. But despite all this, he didn't move from his spot at Buffy's bedside. His fingers were loosely clasped around hers, careful of the many wires and tubes and whatnot. The ventilator hissed, the monitors beeped and Dean waited.

He'd listened as the doctor had explained all the things that were wrong with her, complicated medical terms his mind had helpfully simplified and translated to "she's fucked up". But there had been the fact that she was a Slayer keeping Dean from completely losing it. Slayers got hurt all the time and bounced back, it was in their make-up. So, instead of worrying himself sick over whether she was going to pull through, he focused on how they were going to get out of there when the doctors started noticing Buffy was healing faster than was possible. But so far that hadn't been an issue. He was no expert on how Slayer healing worked, but he knew that it didn't seem to be doing much for her now. Maybe the rate of her healing had been slowed down since it was spread over so many injuries, or maybe it was just busy keeping her alive. The doctors certainly seemed impressed with the fight she was putting up.

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He'd had surgery to repair the internal damage Azazel had inflicted on him and his body longed to lie down. But he'd punched an orderly and threatened numerous nurses and doctors to get to this spot by Buffy's bed and he wasn't leaving it for anything. She'd probably saved his life. If she hadn't done what she'd done, the semi would have hit the Impala. Those injuries added to the ones he'd already received from Azazel probably would have killed him.

_She always has to play the fucking hero_, Dean thought without venom, bringing her hand up gently and laying a soft kiss on her finger tips. His tender actions at odds with the rage that rolled in him. Seeing her like this, tiny and still, and oh-so mortal scared the shit out of him. And it pissed him off. He was pissed at Sam, at dad, at the demon, at himself, at everything. Everything but her. But he kept that rage pinned down, boiling beneath the surface but not seeing the light of day.

He heard someone stop in the doorway behind him, but ignored them. Probably another doctor or nurse. He knew they were suspicious. In an attempt to explain his injuries, the story had been that he'd been in the Camaro with Buffy when it was hit by the semi. John and Sam had claimed they'd seen the whole thing from the Impala, they'd been on their way to the hospital because John accidentally shot himself when cleaning his antique gun (under other circumstances, Dean would have laughed long and hard at that). The problem was that not all of his and Buffy's injuries could be attributed to the accident. But he didn't offer up any other explanation and the doctors gave up on asking, opting just to keep a close eye on the two instead.

So far there hadn't been an issue with the police. The crash site told the story of the semi running through a stop sign at high speed and crashing into another car better than any words did. The driver hadn't remembered anything from his possession, he'd just woken up on the ground, horrified at the crash he'd obviously caused. The official report said he fell asleep at the wheel.

There'd been a moment where they'd sweated over Buffy's ID, but that hadn't been an issue either. A perfect driver's license, insurance card, passport and credit cards where all neatly tucked away in the console, all under a fake name. Even John had been impressed with their quality. Dad had made sure Dean had proper fakes on him when the ambulance arrived as well, while he and Sam had their own showing them as father and son.

They'd called Bobby and he said he'd get the Camaro out of there before anyone noticed it was anything but legit. He'd claimed he had a kid that worked on cars for him part-time that he'd send, but Dean knew that Bobby'd be hobbling around with a cane or a pair of crutches out there.

"You had to stop and get that car didn't you?" He asked, leaning an elbow on the bed next to her hip and resting his chin in his hand. "Bobby's getting it towed back to his place. It's a pretty big mess, but those cars are made well, ya know? They hold together where other ones would've fallen apart. It'll be fine. It might take a while, but it'll be back like it was. I promise."

Slowly his eyes slid closed, the image of Buffy, looking so small in the heavily blanketed hospital bed, face obscured by a face mask, was the last he saw before sleep sucked him down. It seemed like he'd just closed his eyes whe a hand on his shoulder pulled him awake a little while later. He blinked blearily, trying to get his bearings. His head had slid down his arm and come to rest on Buffy's thigh, one arm draped over her legs and the other still lightly tangled with her fingers.

"Dean, dad wants to talk to us."

Sam… Dean took a deep breath (well, as deep as he could without splitting anything open), and sat up, shoving Sam's hand off of his shoulder angrily. Words couldn't express how pissed he was at his brother. The only think keeping him from punching him in his idiotic face was the fact he'd probably pull something and then they'd force him back to his own bed.

"Dad wanted to come in here, but I convinced him that it was better to go somewhere else," Sam went on, his voice soft and uncertain.

Did he want a thank you? Dean waffled for a moment. He didn't want to leave Buffy, but he knew if he didn't go to dad, dad would come to him. And the last thing he wanted was a shouting match in the room where Buffy was supposed to be recovering. With a weary sigh, he gave her fingers a little squeeze and dragged himself to his feet. He wavered for a moment as the room dipped around him and Sam's hand grabbed his upper arm, steadying him.

"Don't touch me," he hissed, jerking his arm away and walking to the door - slowly and slightly hunched over in discomfort.

Sam treaded along behind him, even his steps radiating the kicked puppy vibe. But for once, Dean didn't care. Sam had tried to explain, about the vision, what he'd seen and how he'd thought he was helping. Dean had still been in his hospital bed at the time and he'd had to be sedated because his heart rate had accelerated so much with the need to kick the shit out of his little brother.

"It's the room at the end of the hall, on the left," Sam said from behind him, his voice still hesitant.

John was waiting inside what turned out to be a small empty waiting room. Probably for families that were visiting patients with limits on how many people they could see at once. John had been released only hours after being there and Sam hadn't been injured at all, so they'd been staying in a local motel. They'd come back to visit daily, but aside from Sam's attempt to explain himself, this was the first Dean remembered seeing more than a fleeting glimpse of them between bouts of unconsciousness.

His dad looked good, maybe a little tired and more scruffy than usual, but definitely good for a man that had been kidnapped, drugged, possessed and shot. He stood with a warm smile when Dean came shuffling in, his eyes holding that rare soft tenderness that Dean had always yearned for growing up, and gripped him in a tight but careful hug.

Sam eased the waiting room door closed and they all sat down - John helping Dean despite his glare and muttered insistence that he didn't need any help.

"How are you? Really?" John asked once they were all settled, eyeing Dean with solemn eyes.

Dean bit back his immediate ingrained response of "I'm fine" and shrugged a little. "Tired, sore, but honestly not that bad. Doc say's they'll release me tomorrow."

"That's good, Dean. Real good," John said, nodding. Then he took a deep breath before continuing, like he was bracing himself for something. "Because the yellow eyed demon has the Colt, we need to figure out what's next."

Dean stared at his father incredulously for a moment. "Buffy's in there-" He took a shuddering breath, holding his temper back. "They don't even know if she's gonna live, dad. I honestly couldn't give less of a shit about the Colt or the demon or anything else right now."

"He's right, dad. We can do this later. It's alright, Dean. We'll-" Sam started.

"Don't _you_ stick up for me. Of all people. Don't you dare," Dean growled, whipping his gaze around to land on Sam. "You could have stopped all this if you would've just fucking _said_ something."

Sam flinched like Dean had struck him, "I didn't… I didn't know what I saw, I didn't want to make a big deal if it was nothing-"

"Well it wasn't _nothing_ was it Sam? It was a big fucking _something_. And because you decided not to share with the rest of the class, we all got our asses handed to us."

"What would you've done differently, Dean? Huh?" Sam asked, defensiveness replacing repentance. "If I told you, what the hell would have gone differently?"

"Are you fucking _kidding?_ I would have known dad was possessed, you stupid jackass!"

"Because Buffy attacked him in my mind? You'd know dad was possessed from _that?_ We splashed holy water on him, Dean."

"I think Slayer instincts are a little more reliable than holy water, Sam-"

"You can say that _now_. But you weren't the one-"

"I wasn't the one what? Wasn't the one holding all the cards and watching everyone else stumble around in the dark?"

"You were happy dammit!" Sam yelled, startling Dean into silence. "You were happy and I didn't want to screw it up over nothing."

"Enough," John said, sounding tired. "What's done is done. We can't go back and change any of it, God knows there's lots of things that would be different if we could. We need to figure out what's next. The demon's planning something. I've been tracking-"

"Well, you two have at it," Dean said, jerkily getting to his feet and turning toward the door. "Send me a postcard."

"Dammit, Dean, don't-"

But he was already out the door. Did he want revenge, for what had happened to mom, Jess, his family, Buffy? Abso-fucking-lutely. But he couldn't focus on that right now. If he tried he'd just get them all killed, because until he knew Buffy'd be alright, she'd be where his mind and heart were.

The next day he was released on schedule, dad picked him up in the Impala and took him back to motel to shower and change. There was no more talk about the demon, Sam kept his distance, only sending him angsty looks from where he sat with piles of papers and his laptop, and Dean went back to the hospital almost immediately. It went like that for the next few days and the doctor's suspicions melted away in the face of Dean's obvious devotion as he camped out at Buffy's bedside day after day. And she was getting better. Slowly but surely, the damage was healing. Dean kept a close eye on the doctors as they spoke about her recovery, but they seemed to be patting themselves on the back instead of questioning it.

Despite his argument to the contrary with John and Sam, the demon and what it was planning continued to peck at his thoughts as the days went by. And as Buffy got better, his worry was replaced with relief and his thoughts turned more and more to Azazel and what he was up to. He'd wanted Buffy out of the way to accomplish whatever it was, enough so to trick her into Hell, and Dean couldn't help but feel an anxious scratching in his mind.

Buffy was out of the way right now.

What if Azazel was taking advantage of this Slayerless time? What if this had been his intention all along? Maybe not with semi, Dean had a feeling that had been meant for them as a way to get the Colt, but with the arrival of Alastair. Azazel had once again been angling to get Buffy out of the picture. If that was true, then there was a clock ticking down and while Dean wasn't sure what it was counting down to, he knew it wasn't going to be good.

They could really use the resources of the Council right now. If only Dawn hadn't-

"_She was stabbed to death in Rome less than a week after I went to Hell. It was in the paper and everything - _American Student Stabbed 17 Times in Vatican Library. _I probably wouldn't have even know Azazel was behind it if Alastair hadn't said anything."_

Why exactly _had_ Azazel killed Dawn? Because Buffy asked her to look into him? Or because she'd found something?

Dean stood, kissing Buffy on the temple and whispering that he'd be back in a few before heading outside. He pulled out his cell phone, found by Bobby in the Camaro and FedExed to the motel, and dialed information. The call was connected and a familiar oily voice answered.

"Willy's."

"Willy, this is Dean Winchester. I was in a few months ago with Faith," Dean said.

"Oh yeah! Right! Dean! You did a real stirring rendition of November Rain with those Crancar demons as back up. You were such a hit I went out and got a karaoke machine - thing's a gold mine!"

Dean cringed at the alcohol buried memory of him and some yellowish demons doing an impromptu concert, using pool cues like microphones.

"Uh, yeah. That was me," Dean grunted. "Listen, I need to get in touch with Faith. It's an emergency. Can you do that?"

"Me? I don't know. I'm not really-"

"I'll be sure to tell her how helpful you were. Or how helpful you _weren't_," Dean threatened.

"Of course I can! I'll find her in a jiffy, don't you worry about a thing."

Dean left his number, only half believing Willy would actually come through. But apparently he didn't give the greasy little bartender enough credit, because not even an hour later his phone was ringing, drawing chastising looks from the nursing staff as he hurried outside to answer it.

"Winchester, heard you're lookin' for me," Faith's sultry voice purred out over the line. "You find B?"

"Yeah, I did. Well, kind of. More like we accidentally ran into each other."

"Seriously?" Faith asked, surprised. "Where the hell she been?"

"That's for her to tell you if she wants."

"Bad shit then," Faith said, her voice sounding old and tired suddenly.

Dean gave the phone a grim smile, "Definitely not good shit."

"Uh, does she know? About Dawn?" Faith asked, her usually confident voice sounding uncomfortable.

"Yeah, she knows," Dean answered. "That's actually why I'm calling."

"I just heard about Mini-B myself," Faith said. "That's fucked up, man. No one even told me. I had to hear it from some rogue newbie."

"Rogue newbie?" Dean asked, curiousity derailing his purpose for the moment.

Faith snickered, "Uh-huh. Things over in Slayer country are fubared. The Council's not counselin' much these days. I've been out of the loop since I left, that's why I didn't know about Dawn. Suddenly I've got newbies knockin' down my door, lookin' for a freakin' mentor." She laughed again and Dean could just picture her shaking her head at the irony. "Guess after I left, they put Kennedy in charge of trainin'. Top Slayer and all that. Bad news, man, bad news. That chick's got a power trip goin' on on the best of days, let alone in a position with some pull. New girls were jumpin' ship left and right. Then Ethan Rayne had to show up, add some more chaos into the mix. Somehow he managed to short out Red's mojo, she's barely floatin' a pencil these days and she's pissed as hell about it."

"So all these girls just show up at your doorstep?"

"Pretty much, some just go home, back to their lives."

"And what about the Council? They don't have anything to say about it?"

"Course they do," Faith said with a snort. "All they do is say shit about it. They can't _do_ anything, though. Maybe if Red's witchiness was workin' they could force them back. Not without a fight, of course, but they'd try."

"Sounds like you're poking a bear with a sharp stick."

"It's what I do best."

Dean grinned and shook his head before getting serious. "Listen, the reason I called… When Dawn died, she was in the Vatican Library. You think you can find out exactly what she was looking into?"

Faith let out a low whistle. "Vatican City's big time, dude. I think Giles is the only one with enough pull to get any answers there. Let me ask around with the girls, see what I can come up with."

It was two days before he heard back from her. They passed the same as the ones before, slow and anxious, filled with long silent hours and sudden moments of panic where he wondered if maybe Buffy'd never wake up. The ringing phone brought more strict looks from the staff as he slipped down the hall toward the exit to answer it.

"Okay, so these girls are little gossip queens, they had all the dirt on Dawn's death. A little creepy really… Then I got that little dweeb Andrew to fill in the gaps. Said it was lonely now that all the girls were gone and wanted to come stay here in exchange for the info, so your ass owes me big, Winchester."

"Duly noted," Dean said, sitting forward on a bench outside the hospital in anticipation.

"Looks like Dawn was researchin' Devil's Gates while she was in Rome. Guess the Vatican has this ubermap that shows all the Hellmouths and Devil's Gates. Just before she was killed she was lookin' at one Gate in particular in Wyoming. Big, nasty mother of a Gate, too, from what I hear. Some dude named Colt closed it up back in mid eighteen-hundreds. Did all kinds of crazy awesome shit to lock it down - built churches around it and connected them with railroad tracks of pure iron. Turned a hundred square miles into somethin' called a Devil's Trap - keeps demons out I guess. Then he locked down the entrance to the Gate, it can only be opened with a special key. Wait 'til you hear this shit, the key's this fuckin' awesome gun that-"

"Was made when Halley's comet, blah blah blah, and the poor bastards at the Alamo, blah blah blah..." Dean finished distractedly.

"Damn, just go and ruin my fun why don't ya?"

That must be why they wanted the Colt and why they killed Dawn. She was close to figuring out his endgame. _Good on you, Dawnie, _Dean thought sadly. He'd thought all the fuss over the Colt was just because the demon didn't want them to have a weapon that could kill it. Apparently there was more to it than that.

"So, uh, why're you callin' and not B? She still pissed?"

It hadn't even occurred to him that Faith might think he was calling because Buffy didn't want to talk to her. Feeling a mix of guilt and gratefulness, he gave Faith the bare bones info on what had happened with the demon possession car wreck and how Buffy'd been unconscious (he refused to use the C-word, that implied she wouldn't be waking up, something he tried not to think about. Ever.).

"You're leavin' out a bunch of shit," Faith noted shrewdly. "There's somethin' big going down and you're not sharin'."

"No, I'm not," Dean answered bluntly. "I like you, Faith, and I appreciate your help, but the only Slayer I trust with my life and the life of my family is the one up in that hospital bed. I don't want you and a bunch of your hyped up mini-Slayers getting in the middle of things."

"Fair enough," Faith said after a beat. "They can get a little overzealous. But there's some good girls here, Dean. And I wanna help. I owe it to B. So, if you change your mind, you let me know."

They said their goodbyes and Dean hung up. It was cold and the sun was hidden far above a hazy gray sky, but Dean made no move to go back inside. He knew the who, what, why and where now but he had no idea what to do with the information. If he told dad and Sam they'd be off after the demon. Which would be fine if Dean was there to watch their backs, but that would mean leaving Buffy. And as much as he loved Buffy, he didn't know if he could let his family go off and face that alone, even if he was pissed at them right now.

But he didn't have the time to wallow in indecision. Azazel could be rallying the troops right then, if he hadn't already. So, still not sure what he was going to do, he set off for the motel. It was only two blocks away, but Dean was sore and breathing hard by the time he got there. He was worlds better than he'd been when he'd arrived at the hospital but he was still a long way from fully healed, even the slight exertion of walking a quarter mile took a toll.

He stumbled into the room wearily, cursing his pride that he hadn't given in and called dad or Sam for a ride. Sam stared at him, concern evident in his wide eyes and dad just looked exasperated. Too tired to care or to beat around the bush on why he was there, he just blurted it out.

"The demon's using the Colt open a Devil's Gate in Wyoming," Dean said as he flopped down on the nearest bed.

He closed his eyes and smirked at the shocked silence, counting down to the explosion.

3...

2...

1...

"What?"

"How'd you-"

"Where in-"

"What's it-"

And on and on. Dean waited with a surprising amount of patience for them to get it out of their systems. Then, when it was finally quiet again, he told them about his conversation with Faith. When he'd finished, he fell asleep to the hectic typing of keys and the rustle of maps and books. When he woke hours later, they were still at it - Sam hunched over the laptop, looking back and forth between it and a huge book beside him, and dad was pacing the room, on the phone with who Dean had to assume was Bobby, with a big marked up map clenched in his other hand. Neither of them noticed Dean swipe the keys and leave. Hell if he was walking all the way back to the hospital.

Dean spent the night in the chair next to Buffy's bed. Again. Luckily, the nurses were smitten with him and had changed out the hard plastic chair with one they'd swiped from the doctor's lounge. His ego had expanded to dangerous proportions with the proof that his charm was so potent that even after threatening most of them and laying out that orderly, they'd still been pulled in.

The morning sun was shining in Buffy's window and Dean was nursing a cup of coffee (also courtesy of the nurses) when Sam walked in. Dean knew why he was there, and he still had no answer. He'd been hoping for an epiphany, a sudden shining light on one of the paths that screamed, "Here! This is the right choice!" But instead he'd had weird dreams about zombie farmers and pink corn fields. No help there.

"We're going after the demon, Dean," Sam said, his voice quiet but determined. "With or without you. Which is going to be?"

"With you," a voice from the doorway said.

Dean didn't need to turn around to know Faith was standing there in all her leather clad glory.


	35. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_The bed was large and piled high with thick down blankets. Silken sheets caressed her skin and cloud-like pillows were plumped under her head. But all those things paled in comparison to the feel of the man wrapped around her. His warm breath on the back of her neck, his arms around her, his body pressed against hers, fitting together like a piece that's been missing. _

_"Dean..."_

_"Go back to sleep, Buf," came the sleep roughened reply as he snuggled in closer behind her._

_She smiled in contentment, feeling his fingers intertwine with her own and tried to do just that. But… there was something bothering her... What had woken her in the first place? She opened her eyes again, hand tightening on Dean's. Something was… wrong. Slowly and reluctantly, she extracted herself from Dean's grip. The air outside of their little down cocoon was cold and goose bumps broke out across her skin as soon as her bare feet hit the floor. The room was all white - white bed, white tiled floor, white walls, white door, and white curtains over the window. While the bed had felt warm and comforting, the room felt empty and sterile. Her feet made muted slapping sounds as she walked over to the window, the room seemingly colder with each step. Grabbing the curtains, she tugged them to the sides, revealing a surprisingly small and grimy window. Taking her hand and wiping away some of the film, she peered through the smeared clear space at the view beyond. _

_It was a city. Smoking, half collapsed buildings dotted the landscape and dark, ominous clouds churned overhead. She thought she recognized the Sears Tower, crumpled and leaning, but familiar nonetheless. Was that Chicago? Looking down, burned out cars decorated the street below. She could see the bodies from here._

_She spun around, Dean's name on her lips, but the bed was empty. Tears littered the once pristine sheets, like something had clawed it. _

Or _someone_, when they got dragged away, _she thought darkly, her heart picking up speed. _

_She ran to the door, bursting out of it without a second thought - only to stop almost immediately in confusion. She'd probably been on the fifth or sixth floor, but suddenly she was on the street. Her previous wardrobe of boy shorts and a cami had been switched out for jeans and an old t-shirt of Dawn's that read "Fight the Power" in big gold letters. What the hell? She turned around, but the door, along with the entire building was gone. _

_She turned again and spotted someone, a man, standing in the middle of the street. He was tall and thin, wearing a black suit and surveying the damage with a disinterested eye. She was about to ask him what had happened when the familiarity hit her. She knew him… from where, she couldn't recall._

_"Who are you?" She asked, stopping some distance from him as instinct warned her against getting too close._

_The stranger turned to her, his bland facial features turning to one of mild surprise - a look she had a feeling was rare for him. _

_"Buffy Summers. We meet again," he said, his voice, the cadence of his speech, was oddly soothing. And so familiar..._

_"We... know each other..."_

_"Of course, we've met on several other occasions. A rarity for a mortal," he said, with a slight head nod of respect. _

_A feeling of remembered dread pulled its way free of the fog._

_"Can't remember, hmm? Not a surprise, really, given the circumstances of our previous meetings," he said, eyeing her blankly. "I'm Death."_

_"Death..." But even as she said the word, skepticism thick in her voice, she was remembering. _

_Brief glimpses, no more than flashes really, filled with panic and confusion and him. His face, like this but… not like this. The darkest of dark and the brightest of light. Fear and acceptance. _

"_You remember, then?" He asked, watching her somewhat curiously._

"_Yes… no… a little," she answered in a small voice. "Are… are you here for me?"_

"_No, not yet. You hovered close, just out of my reach, for a little while, almost close enough to touch. But not now."_

"_Then, where am I? What is this?"_

"_This is what's to be."_

"_We're… in the future?"_

"_You? No. You're not really here, just seeing what's to be. I'm both here and not here. I'm everywhere, Buffy. And I will continue to be here and not here until something changes to make it otherwise."_

"_Great," Buffy said with an eye roll, feeling irritation creeping in on her. "For us that are all wacky and linear, that means…"_

"_It means, that for you, a mortal stuck in one place at one time, this is but a distant future of how things are set to end up now. Nothing more than a dream for you at this moment. But for me, this is a reality. A reality that will disappear should something change its course."_

"_All these people in this city… they're dead?"_

"_They are."_

"_Shouldn't you be happy then? Isn't this what you exist for?"_

"_I exist for death, Buffy. It is inevitable. A certainty. Never ending. There will always be death, therefore I will always be. All these people would die regardless. The manner in which it happens, the speed, the time, the place - they mean nothing to me."_

"_Why are you telling me this?"_

"_While these people mean nothing to me, I'll admit that the manner in which this was brought about is not to my liking."_

"_You want me to stop this…"_

"_Do or don't. I'm simply telling you the possibility is there. For now, it looks like you have other places to be," he said, nodding at something behind her. As she turned to look, his parting words met her ears with a chill. "We'll be seeing each other again, Buffy."_

_Looking down at what had once been the other end of the street in Chicago, Buffy blinked at finding herself instead in an old building of some kind. Bodies were crumbled on the floor and Sam sat among them, blood splatter, but seemingly unhurt. _

"_Sam, what-" _

_She stopped when his eyes met hers. That wasn't Sam. The smile that curled up the corners of his mouth made her heart pound and her feet stumble backward. Whatever was in Sam was old and it was powerful and it terrified her. The Slayer part of her went still and silent, watching the new prey warily instead of clamoring for action and blood. _

_Movement caught her eye to the side and she glanced over at the NotSam's reflection in a mirror. The real Sam pounded on the glass, staring at Buffy with desperation and fear._

"_Don't worry about him," the NotSam said, regaining her attention. "He's perfectly fine in here. Just having a little cold feet."_

"_Who are you?"_

"_I'm known by many names. None of which are your concern. You meddle and poke and prod, but you can't stop this. Right now I'm the one trapped - rattling the bars to be let out," he said, looking to Sam who was still yelling without sound. "But this future, the one we're both dreaming of, it's been set and nothing can stop it. Not Sam, not Dean, not John, and not you."_

"_Here's the thing about me," Buffy said, narrowing her eyes at the thing in front of her. Seeing Sam, his eyes haunted, lost and trapped, really pissed her off. "I'm not so good at limits. And the more someone tells me I can't do something - the more I'm going to try anyway. So you can just kiss my-"_

_Suddenly he was right in front of her. Sam's considerable height towering above her and the sheer force of the presence in his body making him seem even larger. His hand flashed forward, grabbing the front of her shirt and lifting her off the floor by it so they were eye to eye. For the first time she saw something more than calm amusement in its gaze. A barely restrained rage lurked in its depths._

"_You think you can compare me to what you've faced before, Slayer? You're insignificant, nothing more than a gnat compared to my existence. A gnat stronger than the other gnats, but a gnat just the same," he said with a sneer. He leaned in close and a sudden burning started deep inside Buffy. She gasped and struggled weakly as it grew hotter and hotter, like she was being set on fire from the inside out. "And you think because neither of us is physically here that you're safe from me? You're-"_

_Another hand curled in the back of her shirt, yanking her backwards out of the NotSam's grip with a tearing of fabric. She hit the ground and blinked up at the sky. _Wait… The sky?_ Gritty asphalt shifted under her hands as she pushed herself into a sitting position and looked around. It was an alley. Getting to her feet, she looked around warily, half expecting the NotSam to have followed her. Loose newspaper pages rustled around her feet in the breeze as she took in her new surroundings. A dumpster, litter, an abandoned car - nothing that couldn't be seen in any big city alley. What struck her was the silence. No distant sound of cars or people, no pigeons or rats. It made the sudden burst of gunfire all the louder. She jumped, looking around wildly for a second before realizing it had come from the main street. Cautiously, she made her way to the mouth of the alley, noting the huge spray painted "Croatoan" on the storefront opposite the exit. More gunfire sounded from the street, she plastered herself to the alley wall and carefully peeked around the corner._

_She needn't have been so careful, no one was looking her way. Two groups of people were facing off - one with guns, the other without. But it didn't seem to deter the weaponless party any, they just kept advancing. Watching in confusion, Buffy noted that only head shots were taking them down. Zombies? The mindless, almost animalistic looks on their faces would explain that. Then she saw the black eyes. Demons. _

_A little girl darted out of a shadowed alcove at the gunmen. She couldn't have been any more than six or seven. Little pink dress stained and tattered and her brown hair stringy and knotted. The man closest to her spun toward her and Buffy's breath caught. Dean. He was older, his face wearing new lines that attested that things hadn't been easy for him - they told of stress and pain. He didn't even blink as he put a bullet in the child's head, turning away before the body even hit the ground and going back to picking off the demon mob. _

_Buffy was breathless with shock. Maybe it had been necessary, but for Dean to do that without even a flicker of hesitation or remorse? What had led to this?_

"_What happened?" She wondered aloud in a whisper._

"_It's what's to come," an achingly familiar voice said from behind her. "Unless you can stop it."_

"_So, are you the ghost of Christmas past then?" She asked turning to face Angel with a small smile. _

_Angel returned her smile and stepped closer, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear._

"_Something like that," he said, his smile melting. "I wanted you to see. It's important you know."_

"_So, what? You're the new Whistler? You've got the cryptic down to an art form. But you'll need a new, uglier, wardrobe."_

"_I'm not a messenger for The Powers," he said with a head shake. "I'm not a messenger for anyone. This was more of a favor. I'm just here for this one thing."_

"_A favor?" Buffy asked, raising her eyebrows. "Showing me all _this_ was a favor?"_

"_I owe you. I owe you so much…" He said, brushing a hand over her cheek. "The path things are set on… I want you to be happy, but that's not going to happen if things continue the way they are. You've already started to change things, Buffy, but it's not enough. You need to do more."_

"_Sam and Dean…"_

"_Destiny has big plans for them. Heavy plans. Carrying that weight… it'll slowly break them down."_

_Buffy's heart clenched remembering the empty look on Dean's face as he killed the possessed child. She looked away from Angel and noticed for the first time they weren't in the alley anymore. They seemed to be in an old graveyard surrounded by woods. The sudden change in scenery reminded her-_

"_When the NotSam grabbed me-"_

"_NotSam?" Angel interrupted with a small smirk._

"_You pulled me away," she went on, ignoring his teasing._

_His face grew serious, "I'm sorry about that. I honestly wasn't sure of everything you'd see, your Slayer side kind of takes control when it comes to prophetic dreams. All I could do was kind of… aim you."_

"_So he could have actually hurt me?" Buffy said, rubbing her chest and remembering the soul deep burning. "Even though this is just a dream?"_

"_It is a dream and it isn't," Angel said slowly. "For things like Death and Lucifer, time and levels of consciousness are relative."_

_Buffy's mind had stuttered to a halt at one thing, "Lucifer?"_

_Angel nodded. "Azazel's end plan - free Lucifer from his cage. He's already taken the necessary steps, but here," he looked around the cemetery. "In this place, this is where it really begins."_

"_And if he does get free, if I can't stop this?" Buffy said, worry gnawing at her stomach at the task in front of her and the possible consequences of her failure._

"_You've seen what will happen," he said, watching her sadly. "Maybe small things will change, but… You can't beat him, Buffy. You have to stop him from getting free at all."_

_Buffy turned away from him, rubbing her temples tiredly as she wandered between the headstones. The familiarity of being in a cemetery was comforting and the fact that a place of death relaxed her made her angry and sick. It seemed like she always ended up in the same place, no matter what she did. Cemeteries, death, the fate of the world on her shoulders and the lives of the people she loved in her hands - nothing ever really changed._

"_I'm sorry, Buffy," Angel said, much closer than she'd thought him to be. Turning she looked up at him, feeling her anger drift away as he stared at her with sad brown eyes. "The last thing I wanted to do was… this. Add to the weight you carry. But…"_

"_I know, I know. Someone has to do it."_

"_That's not it. You… you love him, don't you?" He asked, his eyes ticking away from hers._

_She stared at him blankly for a moment before nodding once._

"_I'm glad. I mean… I'm not glad, I hate it," he said shaking his head. "But I want you to be happy. Really happy. And I can see he does that for you. I want you to have a chance at that. What I could never offer you. Real happiness, real intimacy, a real relationship. But if things keep going the way they are…"_

_Buffy nodded again, her throat closing up slightly. Both because there was yet another huge obstacle between her and happiness, that if she failed she wasn't going to be the only one to lose, and because of Angel. How could he want her to be happy after what she'd done?_

"_Don't," he said, apparently reading her mind and pulling her to him in a tight hug. "Don't do that. No blaming yourself or feeling guilty. You saved my soul, Buffy. I've seen it, they showed me, what I would have become if you hadn't done what you did."_

_A shudder went through him and he hugged her tighter. He was warm. She always wondered what it would be like to hug a warm Angel. It was nice. But it wasn't Dean. _

"_Good luck, Buffy. I love you."_

_And then he was gone. _

_Buffy stood in the old cemetery, wondering what she was going to do, if she was good enough, strong enough to save them all, feeling bereft and alone. But a hand on her shoulder told her otherwise, she spun around and blinked in surprise. _

_No, she wasn't alone._

"_Time to wake up, B."_


	36. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Buffy blinked heavy eyes at the fuzzy blob of white above her. Parts of her dream swimming around in her head and others drifting away. Slowly, the ceiling came into focus and as it did, she picked up other details - the beeping at her bedside, the ache of her body, the ugly headache that pounded behind her eyes, the smell of disinfectant and, so very faintly, of Dean. Turning her head gingerly to the side, she saw Faith blinking back at her with sleep filled eyes. Buffy found that she wasn't at all surprised to see her. She was leaning back in an oddly cushy looking chair with her big black boots propped up on Buffy's bed. Yawning widely, she put her feet down, letting the chair thunk back down on four legs.

"Comas suck, huh?" Faith said, standing and stretching before walking over to the water pitcher on the side table. "You wake up feelin' like somethin' died in your mouth while you were sleepin'."

Buffy rolled her thick tongue around in her mouth, making a face at the gross, but accurate description. She took the glass with shaking hands and sipped at it slowly as the fog cleared out of her mind.

"How long?" Her voice came out low and gravely, like she was doing an imitation of Dean.

"You been out for little over a week."

"Dean? Was he alright? What about Sam and-''

Buffy broke out coughing, stalling her questioning and Faith refilled her glass.

"They're all fine. Your boy got pretty banged up, but the docs got him all patched up."

"Where…"

"They left last night."

Buffy stared at Faith blankly, not comprehending. Left? She'd been in a _coma_ for a _week_ and Dean just _left_?

"Man… Don't make that face," Faith said, looking uncomfortable. "Listen B, don't get the wrong idea. He was here, right by your side the whole time - even when he should've been in his own hospital bed. Hear he even decked an orderly to get here. Your night in a shining hospital gown."

Faith then told her all that had happened while she was out - how Dean had asked her to find out what Dawn had been working on, the information she'd come up with, how Dean's family wanted to book it out of there when they heard, leaving Dean to decide whether to stay or go, how Faith had convinced him she'd watch over Buffy if he wanted to go with his family and how he'd grudgingly gave in. She even told her about the Council and the new girls while Buffy sat in silence, trying to soak it all in. She didn't really care about what was happening with the Council or with the other Slayers, she was more interested in what Faith had found out about what Dawn had been looking into. She remembered her dream, maybe not every detail, but most of it - the cemetery at the end where Angel had told her it would all begin, that must be where they were headed.

"So, I kinda walked in at the end of the movie there. All I caught is we gotta stop something from gettin' free and then you and Angel did your usual emo routine. 'I want you to be happy', 'You saved me', 'I love you' - don't know if it's possible to barf in a Slayer dream, but I almost found out," Faith said, snickering as she dodged Buffy's pillow.

Buffy sat back, rolling her eyes and smiling slightly at Faith - ignoring the sharp pang that Angel's words caused and instead focusing on the "we" Faith had purposely used.

"Yep, time for us hot chicks with superpowers to get back to work saving the world," Buffy said, nodding solemnly.

"Fuck yeah," Faith said, with a big grin. "Things've been boring without the end of the world breathin' down our necks. I'm ready for some apocalyptic ass kickin'."

Buffy shook her head, trying not to show that just the thought of fighting back another apocalypse wore her out. "Well, you're the expert on breakouts, so lead the way Cool Hand Luke."

"B, Luke failed at breaking out - over and over. Then died at the end."

Buffy shrugged, "Coma-girl here, it's all I could come up with. I didn't really watch it all. I just know there was some guy in prison, getting his ass kicked and eating a lot of eggs. It made me think of you."

"That hurts me, B. Right here in my heart."

All her clothes were in her car (Buffy didn't even want to _think_ about the shape her poor Camaro was in), so Faith gave her a set of her own - Slayer road rule, always keep spare clothes around in case of blood or other ick encounters. Buffy groaned and Faith smirked at the sight of the black leather pants and red tank top.

"Red makes me look fat," Buffy grumped, starting at the pile like it'd magically change just by the force of her dislike.

"Trust me, B. No way is _that_ going to make you look fat."

And she was right - it was far to tight for that.

While it was good to get out of her hospital gown, Buffy wasn't sure getting into Faith's clothes was a big improvement. They clung to every curve and smelled slightly of high octane gas, for good reason she later found out, after they'd crept silently out of the hospital.

Buffy stood looking at the motorcycle and felt her eye start twitching. It was just going to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

Dean stood by the broken Camaro, realizing how absolutely _amazing_ it was that Buffy had survived. Without his thoughts clouded by pain and panic, here in the light of day, he could see what a complete and total wreck the car was.

The driver's side door had fallen all the way off and was propped against the back fender. He sat down heavily in the seat with one foot inside and the other on the ground. Despite the fact that it had sat out here minus a door for over a week, he could still smell Buffy in there just as strongly as if she'd just gotten out. That wonderful scent that reminded him of warm, sun dried laundry. There was also an underlying smell that it took him a minute to identify, making him smile when he realized it was Pez. But on top of that, coating everything, was the smell of blood. His smile faded away and he clenched his hand around the steering wheel, causing a dusting of dried blood to flake off. He closed his eyes and forced his mind off of Buffy and the urge to just leave his dad and brother to it, to get back to her and make sure she was alright. For the hundredth time he wondered if he'd made the right decision. Maybe he should have stayed and sent Faith with them. No doubt she'd be more useful than he was. But underneath there was still that bubbling need for vengeance that said he'd made the right choice. That sonofabitch had killed his mother, fucked up his family and hurt Buffy - it was going to pay and Dean was going to be there when it did.

He could hear yelling up at the house as he climbed back out of the car and ignored it - let Sam keep dad and Bobby from killing each other, it was his turn to play peacekeeper. He dropped down onto the ground gingerly, still sore and stiff, and slid underneath, letting out a low groan at the damage he found. Twisted metal, missing parts and leaks galore. Fanstastic. Scooting back out and dusting himself off, he went to check under the hood next. Or he tried to, but it was damaged to the point where it wouldn't open. He'd have to get some tools and either pry the sonofabitch off or cut it open like a can. He sighed at hasty promise to fix this car. Buffy had been unconscious, maybe he could pretend like he'd never said anything…

"Think you can fix it?"

The sudden voice made him jump guiltily, and he turned to scowl at his brother who looked back at him like a stray puppy hoping for a scrap of food. Dean had barely spoken three words to him since they left the hospital, but with the constant eye beams of sorrow Sam seemed to be constantly shooting at him, his anger was slowly dissipating.

He sighed and looked back at the Camaro, "Don't know. I'm gonna try."

Sam was silent for a moment, maybe shocked that Dean was speaking to him. "Listen Dean, I'm really-"

"I know, Sam," Dean replied tiredly.

It didn't really matter how many times Sam apologized, he really didn't have to say anything at all for Dean to know that he was sorry. But that didn't change anything that had happened, and the words weren't what made Dean want to forgive the kid. It was the fact he _knew_ Sam, and knew how hard he was taking this - not only Dean's anger at him, but the damage he'd caused, knowing how much worse it _could_ have been. Plus, Dean's anger was always worn down by his big brother instincts in time. Now, if Buffy hadn't been getting better before they left or she had-

No, he wasn't going to think about that.

"Is Bobby coming along?" Dean asked still looking at the car.

He knew that was what all the yelling had been about up at the house. They'd decided to stop back at Bobby's and load up on supplies but, although Dean hadn't said anything, he'd thought his father was a fool to think he could just pop in on the way to such a huge demon killing mission and think Bobby would just calmly agree to sit this one out. Bum leg or no. He'd had everything ready and his own bag packed when they got there. Dad, of course, had flat out said no and Bobby, who was a lot like Sam in this respect, had bristled immediately at being told what to do.

"I don't think so. I think dad convinced him that he'd be more of a hindrance than a help," Sam said, sounding relieved as he walked a little closer to Dean. Dean wasn't sure if it was because he was talking to him again or because Bobby'd be safe at home while they were out probably getting their asses kicked. He didn't ask.

Dean snorted a little, "I'll believe it when I see it. Twenty says he shows up in the middle of the fight and saves one of our asses."

Sam huffed out a laugh, "You're on."

They both walked back without a word, but this time the silence wasn't loaded with accusation and guilt. Maybe not everything had been forgiven and forgotten, but Dean knew he didn't want to go into this fight angry at Sam, and he didn't want Sam going into this thinking he hated him. The sudden regret that he hadn't told Buffy that he loved her hit him then. What if this was-

"Stop it, dude," Sam said from beside him as they approached the Impala, John already in the driver's seat. "I can feel the doom and gloom from here. We're stopping that bastard demon and we're making it out of this. All of us."

Dean was taken aback by the surety in Sam's voice and, though he'd never admit it out loud, he was comforted by it. He grinned, knocking his shoulder into Sam's slightly. "Quit talkin' like a grown up, Sammy. It's freakin' me out."

Sam rolled his eyes with a slight smile before sliding into the back seat while Dean got up front.

"You boys ready?" John asked, looking at them closely, subtly relieved at the restored peace.

They both nodded and John started the car. The roar of the engine, his dad's larger than life presence beside him and the smell of him and Impala, which Dean just realized were one in the same, made him feel like he was ten years old again. That if he turned around he'd see Sam, all of six and still shorter than him, playing with army men in the backseat. Things were so much simper then. Maybe less simple for him than other ten year olds - their dads didn't come back to the rundown motel room that was "home" for the week, drunk or bleeding and they weren't playing the role of a parent to someone only four years younger than themselves - but simpler nonetheless. Just say "Yes, sir" and follow dad's orders and take care of Sammy. That was it. Back then dad was a hero, not a flawed man. Sam was Sammy, brainy and annoying but a sweet kid who told Dean every thought that crossed his mind and never imagined keeping secrets or lying.

Sighing and pushing away thoughts of what had been, Dean leaned against his door and looked at his father.

"So, what's the plan?"

"Hopefully we get there before the demon. We each find a position and we watch. From what I can tell, Samuel Colt had the area pretty much on demonic lock down. Nothing gets out, and nothing gets in - including Azazel. He'll have to send someone in, a human, with the Colt to open the Gate."

"And once the Gate is open, the barrier will break?"

"That's what I'm guessing. The whole thing seems to be tied to the Gate and the Colt, I'm pretty sure when it gets unlocked the protections he has in place will fall."

"So, we find this person he's recruited and stop him from opening the Gate, get the Colt back," Sam recapped from the back. "How do we find the demon after we get the gun?"

"He'll be in the area, I'm sure of it. I doubt we'll even have to look for him if this is as big of a deal as we think it is. He'll want that Colt back and he'll come looking for us."

"What if it's gotten rid of the last two bullets?" Dean asked.

"Then we use the Scythe."

"The… Wait, what?" Dean's train of focus lost its bearings and screeched to a halt. "The Scythe? Tell me you did _not_ steal Buffy's Scythe."

"We didn't really _steal_ it," Sam offered from behind him. "More… borrowed it. I hid it in here before the medics and police showed up, and it just… is still kinda here. And it's really more of a lochaber axe than a-"

"Shut it, geek boy," Dean said, closing his eyes and rubbing them roughly. "I had nothing to do with this. When she shows up looking for someone's ass to kick, it ain't gonna be mine."

Sam snickered and made a whip cracking sound.

A comfortable silence fell over the car for most of the trip, but as soon as they crossed the Wyoming line, tension started to hum in the air. Night had fully fallen when they parked the Impala on an old dirt track off the main road. Their breath was visible in the cold night air as they huddled around the trunk, each of them hiding as many weapons on them as they could. Then there was just the Scythe, gleaming in the yellow trunk light and, to Dean at least, looking defiant.

He must not have been the only one noticing the hostile vibe from the weapon, because John waved at it slightly and said, "Go ahead, Dean. Grab it and lets get going."

"Me?" He asked, his voice two octaves higher than normal.

"It belongs to your girl, you should be the one carrying it," John insisted, still watching it warily, like it might just fly out of the trunk on its own and kick his ass.

"Uh-uh, no way. I told you, I've got nothing to do with this," he said, holding up his hands. He looked to Sam, "You get it, dude."

Sam shook his head, "I used it last time, its already pissed at me."

Dean snorted, realizing they were being ridiculous. It was just a freaking weapon. So there was some magic nun/goddess/Slayer mojo on it? It was still an inanimate object. That logic didn't stop him from taking a fortifying breath before reaching for it though.

What happened when he wrapped his hand around it was completely unexpected. Instead of a shock or a buzz of energy or anything along those lines, it was _comfort_ he felt. It was like Buffy was right there with him. He could practically feel her pressed up against him like she'd been in those last stolen moments together in the panic room - warm and soft, her sweet smell surrounding him and the feeling of _home_ in a way he'd never really known before.

"Hey… You alright, man?"

Sam's voice seemed to drag him back to the present and suddenly he was just standing behind the Impala with nothing more than an odd looking, but normal, weapon in his hand. He swallowed hard, willing his heart to quit pounding.

"Fine, lets go."

Both dad and Sam watched him closely as they left the Impala, Sam especially. But Dean shrugged it off and tried to ignore the way the incident with the Scythe had made him miss Buffy like he'd miss a lost a limb.

The woods were thick, almost completely blocking out the meager light from the crescent moon above and making the trek toward the cemetery annoyingly slow. While they wound their way through the brush and saplings, dad went over the plan again.

"We'll start at the center, where the Gate is, then spread out and find good vantage points," John said as he ducked under a branch. Dean almost groaned out loud - a 'good vantage point' meant 'climb a fuckin' tree if you have to'. "Hopefully we'll be able to spot this guy before he gets anywhere near the Gate. We take him down as quick as possible. Yellow Eyes won't know what's going on in here, so maybe we can get the drop on him after we have the Colt."

Both he and Sam mutter a quiet "Yes, sir" and they all continued their fight with the foliage. It seemed like an eternity had passed when they finally reached the clearing. Old, crumbling tombstones dotted the area and, at the center, there was a little shitty mausoleum.

"Hell's locked in _there_?" Dean asked, eyeing the shack with disbelief.

John ignored him, already in the zone and looking to off the side with squinted eyes.

"Okay, Sam, you go to the east," John said pointing to the left. "Dean, you go-"

His sentence was cut off by the small face that a fist had just appeared from nowhere and cold cocked him right across the jaw, sending him sprawling on the ground. Both Sam and Dean blinked at him with wide eyes for a second before turning their shocked gaze on the owner of that fist.

A girl. A girl had just laid out John Winchester. She was about Buffy's height, but lacking her delicate structure - more muscled, stockier. The gleam in her dark eyes and the way she held her self edged over the line of confidence and into cocky. Dean had no idea where she'd come from or who she was, but one thing was certain.

She was a Slayer.


	37. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing purely for enjoyment.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"Jeez, who knew John Winchester had a glass jaw?" The mystery guest said, looking down at dad who had yet to move from his sprawled position on the ground.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, his large frame stiff and still.

"I'm the Slayer."

"No, you're not," Dean snorted. "I know _the_ Slayer. About yay-tall, blond, sweet ass and a talent at making up her own words. That's not you, sweetheart."

"Buffy Summers isn't Queen Bee any more and hasn't been for a while. It's easy to be the best when you're the only one and then the only one who isn't evil. I'm in charge now," she said, her eyes landing on the Scythe. "And it looks like you have something of mine."

"You must be Kennedy," Dean said with distaste, clutching the Scythe tighter. Kennedy smirked back at him, obviously pleased he knew who she was. "Bitch with way to high of an opinion of herself… yep, shoe fits."

Kennedy's smile turned to a snarl and her dark eyes went flat and cold. "I'm a better leader than Buffy could ever hope to be."

"Way I hear it, you're not leading anything these days. With Buffy and Faith gone, the Council kinda jumped the shark didn't it?"

"Maybe it did," Kennedy said, surprising Dean by grinning. "Buffy ran off, just disappeared into the night without so much as a 'see ya'. But she was _still_ all those brats talked about. 'Buffy would do it like this' and 'Buffy wouldn't do that' and 'did you here about the time Buffy-'. Makes me sick. But all that's about to change."

Kennedy reached behind her and Dean and Sam both watched warily as she pulled a gun out from under her shirt. The Colt.

"See, I happen to have proof that Buffy made a deal with a demon to get that vampire, Angel, outta Hell. It really is such a shame she had to go and open that Devil's Gate like that. So selfish to free all those demons just to get her man back," Kennedy said, shaking her head in disappointment. "The troops will have no choice but to rally now, with Hell on earth and all. And guess who'll be leading them?"

Both Dean and Sam stared at her in disbelief, but it was Sam that got the words out first, "You're going to open the Gate and let out all those demons just so you can play master and commander? And you're going to blame the whole thing on _Buffy_?"

"Won't work," Dean growled, his anger making his voice rougher than usual. "Nobody'll believe that crap. Plus you'll have to go through the three-" He glanced down at dad again, he seemed to be out for the count. "Two of us to get to that Gate."

"You say that like it's a problem," she said.

Before they could say anything else, she was right in front of them, her fist swinging at Dean. He managed to miraculously dodge it, but the only thing that kept the kick that followed from landing on his chest was Sam tackling her. Instead, it caught him in the left shoulder, which made a nasty popping sound, and sent him crashing to the ground. His right hand stayed locked tight around the Scythe though - no way was that bitch getting it that easily. He heard Sam's grunt of pain and forced himself up to help his brother. By the time he struggled to his feet (not an easy thing to do with a dislocated shoulder and the Scythe in hand), Sam was writhing on the ground and Kennedy was already in front of the Gate.

"Wait!" Dean called out, desperation tingeing his words. "Don't do this. Slayers are supposed to help people, right? Think about all the innocent people that'll die if you open that thing."

"They won't die," she said, her voice creepily fervent. Then she shoved the barrel of the Colt into the opening. There was a mechanical sounding whirring noise from the door and she turned her attention back to Dean. "I'll lead the others and we'll stop them. Everyone will see that-"

A shadowed figure stepped out from the side of the mausoleum and then a crutch handle came whipping out, cracking her across the face and knocking her to the ground. Bobby stepped out a little further and stood to the side, shaking his head.

"Why do the crazies always gotta _talk_ about what they're doing? Like any of us wanna listen to all that posturing."

Dean laughed slightly in disbelief, "Sam you owe me-"

His words cut off as the whirring of the pentagram around the Colt got louder and the symbols surrounding it started to spin. Light started leaking from the edges and a matching glow lit up the surrounding area, something in the distance exploded.

The barrier keeping the demon's out was down.

Sam went running by, pulling Dean's gaze away from the distant fire and yelling something about the Gate. The pentagram stopped spinning and it fell quiet just before Sam got there, then there was the definite sound like a heavy bolt being turned. A hellacious orange light peeked between the two doors as they started to open. Sam rammed into them, his whole body weight behind trying to get them to close again, but the crack continued to get wider.

"Balls!"

Bobby cursed and had just started forward to help Sam when an invisible force slammed into him and he was sent flying through the air. He slammed against a tree and a new dark haired chick was walking toward him with a smile.

"Demon," Bobby muttered in disgust. Dean was too far away, but he imagined he'd seen black eyes.

"Now don't act like that, we're practically old friends," she purred moving toward him. "Oh, but you probably don't recognize me since I'm not tied up, getting tortured and exercised in your living room."

Shit... Meg.

"Hey bitch!" Dean yelled, moving to help Bobby, but his path was swiftly blocked by Kennedy, nose broken and blood streaming down from it, coating her lips and chin. She looked _pissed_.

He barely saw her move this time, but he still tried to get out of the way. It didn't work. There was an explosion of light behind his eyes and his vision shorted out as his head snapped back from the impact. Pain exploded in his head, making the collision with the ground barely noticeable. Forcing himself to breathe through it and muttering some choice (but slightly slurred) curses, he pried his eyes open. Grass blades were the first thing he saw, and when he forced his focus a little further there was the Scythe - a good ten feet from him. Shit. Then, just beyond the Scythe was Kennedy.

He forced himself up, wobbling just a little and stood facing her. A growl of effort drew his gaze to the side, where Sam was fighting tooth and nail with the Gate to Hell with little to no success. Maybe he was slowing it down some, but Dean had a feeling that wouldn't last much longer.

Then, out of nowhere, two more bodies slammed into the doors, each on one side of Sam. Just in time too, because the door bucked outwards, making all three of them slide from the force, and a horrible screeching of what sounded like thousands of demons filled the air. The two - young girls, Dean noticed, maybe seventeen or eighteen - gritted their teeth and shoved back - doing the impossible and pushing the hordes of Hell back. The door crept slowly closer to being shut and Sam put one hand on the Colt, ready to relock the Gate and pull the gun free at the first opportunity.

Kennedy looked at the newcomers in disbelief.

"Little upstarts, I'll just have to take care of them too," she said, looking annoyed and a little less sure of her self.

Kennedy kept her eyes on Dean as she bent over, reaching for the Scythe.

"But first, I gotta take care of you," she said, her hand inches from the Scythe. "Man, Buffy is tough on guys. I wish I could be around to see her face when she finds out another one's bit the dust."

So intent on keeping her eyes on Dean, she never saw the slight blond creeping up behind her. Dean kept his eyes on Kennedy, determined not to give Buffy away. But it was hard, keeping the overwhelming wave of relief that washed over him from showing on his face. It was also hard keeping his eyes from gravitating to her - the way the meager moonlight glinted oddly off her clothes begged for further inspection.

Kennedy's hand had barely brushed the Scythe when Buffy's boot caught her in the face.

"I think you need to learn to keep your hands to yourself, bitch."

"Yeah, you don't wanna mess with B's guy. Trust me," a familiar sultry voice called and Dean looked over to see Meg trying to fend off Faith.

Kennedy was struggling to her knees, eyes dazed and more blood leaking from her broken nose and now split lips. A punch to the face from Buffy knocked her back down - she fell with the dead weight and awkwardly splayed limbs of someone unconscious before they hit the ground.

Beyond her, Sam and what Dean guessed were two mini-Slayers managed to get the Gate shut with one final heave. The orange light of Hell disappeared along with the din of the demons beyond with a heavy clang and Sam pulled the Colt free. The mechanic whirring started up again and the heavy sound of a bolt sliding was heard again.

Buffy turned to him then, a half scowl, half pout on her face.

"We need to have a serious talk about boundaries, Dean Winchester. No matter how close two people are, you just don't go stealing her favorite weapon while she's in a coma."

The words barely registered to Dean though, who was fully entranced by the sight of Buffy in a skin tight red tank top and equally tight leather pants.

"Are you listening?"

"You can yell at me all you want when you're dressed like that," he smirked, closing the distance between them and pulling her to him by her waist. He kissed her hard, all tongues and teeth - a sort of desperate validation that she was there and she was alright. The moment was broken when her hands touched the back of his neck.

"Jesus, your hands are like ice," he yelped, pulling away and rubbing the spot she'd touched vigorously.

"Duh! It's winter in Wyoming, in case you haven't noticed. And I'm in _this_," she said, waving her hands at the red shirt. "And I had to ride on a _motorcycle!_ Of _course_ I'm cold!"

Dean had to chuckle as she kept moving in closer, seeking out his body heat even though she sounded pissed. Shaking his head, he pulled off his coat carefully while he took in the scene around them. Faith had Meg pinned to the ground face first and was kneeling on her back, talking with Bobby who'd been freed from the tree. Dad was still out. Sam was standing by the newly locked Gate looking supremely uncomfortable as the two girls stared up at him with big flirty eyes.

"Your shoulder, we should fix it," Buffy said, her irritation gone as she stared at his dislocated shoulder in concern.

"Well, I guess… since you're dressed like the Mistress of Pain and all…"

Buffy giggled and shook her head, then put her hands in position.

"On three," she said. Then, of course, she did it on one.

"Knew you were going to do that," he gasped, holding his coat out to her and wiggling his fingers. He sighed in relief as the pain died away to almost nothing and rotated his arm a little.

"Uh, this isn't going to work…"

Looking back to Buffy, he barked out a laugh at her standing there in his leather coat, flapping the extra foot of material around that hung past her fingertips. She gave him a dirty look and snapped a sleeve at him.

"Give me your shirt, at least I can roll the sleeves up on it."

Dean pulled off his plaid over-shirt and handed it over without complaint, taking the jacket back, now smelling like Buffy slightly. Slipping it back on, he then took one of her arms and started rolling the sleeves back, internally grimacing again at how tiny she was. No matter how many times he saw her kick the shit out of something evil or saw her take a hit and brush it off like it was nothing, it never seemed to be enough to make her seem any less breakable in his eyes.

Finishing rolling the second sleeve, his eyes met hers to find her watching him with a soft look and a small sweet smile. He couldn't help but to smile back.

"Better?" He asked, tugging lightly on a chunk of blond hair.

"Perfect," she said, still watching him with that look that made him both embarrassed and warm at the same time.

The sound of clapping interrupted their chick flick moment.

"Well, isn't this just a heartwarming scene," a man by the tree line called out, ceasing his clapping. "The good guys triumph again. The evil's been thwarted and its time to go home, be merry and fuck like bunnies."

Faith was the first to recover from the strange intrusion.

"Sounds about right," she said, smirking but watching the new guy warily from her position atop the still pinned Meg.

Dean, usually the first one to the smartass comment, barely heard her. As soon as he laid eyes on the new addition, everything else kind of faded, because while Faith was confused, he knew _exactly_ who the new guy was.

The yellow eyes were a dead giveaway.

* * *

He was wearing the body of an unassuming middle aged man and was leaning back against a tree, like he'd been enjoying the show. Buffy went still and felt the same tenseness enter Dean next to her. All the warm and fuzzy feelings he'd ignited in her erased by Azazel's presence. The heat of revenge was racing through both their veins now and her fingers itched for the Scythe at her feet.

Movement off toward Faith and Bobby's side drew her attention and she turned her head to see a man in his early thirties step out of the shadows.

"That would be Tom, my son," Azazel introduced primly. "He and John have some unfinished business, but he'll help me kill all of you before he goes for daddy."

Then several things happened at once. Azazel's smile turned dark and Tom darted for Faith, pulling a wicked looking knife out as he went. Buffy was about to go after Azazel when Dean grabbed her by the arm and a shot was fired. The body Azazel was in jerked, but it was too late - he was already smoking out of his host when the bullet hit. Swiveling her head toward Sam and the two new Slayers, who she only recognized faintly (part of Faith's little mini-Slayer roundup who were called in to help), she saw Sam holding the smoking Colt, his face a mask of fury and frustration. The demonic smoke darted through the graveyard like a huge snake before diving at the prone body near Dean and Buffy.

"Uh-oh…" Buffy breathed, knowing this would _not_ be of the good.

Kennedy's newly yellow eyes snapped open as she did a backwards roll to her feet, wearing Azazel's familiar smirk. Glancing over the Demon Slayer's shoulder she could see the scuffle going on beyond. Bobby'd been knocked to the ground and Faith was defending herself from both Meg and Tom. As if feeling her brief gaze, Tom looked over at Buffy. Then, leaving Faith and Bobby to Meg, he started toward them.

"We're about to have more company," she muttered, having no idea how right she was.

"A lot more," Dean answered grimly, looking past her on the right toward Sam and the other two Slayers.

Three more demons had stepped out of the forest behind the mausoleum. The two newbies had gone to meet them, their youth and the newness of all this still giving them the enthusiasm for a good fight that Buffy remembered Faith having, but only rarely had herself. Sam was still in front of the Gate though and he was raising the Colt for another shot. Azazel jerked up his hand and with a widening of eyes, Sam went slamming into a nearby headstone and was pinned there - the Colt laying in the grass by the Gate where he'd lost his grip on it.

Tom was almost on them now and Azazel was moving toward the mausoleum and the Colt.

"Stop him," Dean said, thrusting the Scythe at Buffy. "I'll hold this guy off."

Buffy took the Scythe after a moments hesitation, the familiar warmth tingling though her body as it welcomed her.

"Be careful," she said, pulling him down for a quick peck on the lips, before turning away and sprinting after Azazel.

He dodged her first swing of the Scythe with an ease and quickness that took her off guard. As did the lighting quick punch to her face that had her stumbling back a few strides.

"This is like going from a Motel 8 to the Presidential Suite at the Ritz," he said, jogging in place lightly in Kennedy's body. "Nice and cushy, mini bar stocked with all kinds of neat stuff, I could get used to this."

This was bad. Really bad. He had all of a Slayers strength and speed, plus his own. But a second later Buffy found how much worse it really was when he did his psychic mojo thing on her and instead of the usual amount of force that she was able to fight against, it hit her like a train. She didn't even remember flying through the air, just hitting the ground with a whoosh of lost air and spots dancing around the edges of her vision. She forced herself to her feet, sore and stiff muscles complaining about the abuse as Azazel laughed at her, he smiled and gave her a little wave when she looked up at him before turning and striding toward the Colt.

An agonized howl from Bobby stopped her as she started after him. Shooting a look toward the trio, she saw Faith struggling to her feet with a snarl and blood pouring down from her hairline and Bobby pinned once again to a tree, Meg holding her hand out in a clenched fist and twisting it in the air, drawing another scream from Bobby.

Without a second thought, Buffy pulled back her arm and sent the Scythe through the air, the humming it created as it whipped end over end drawing Megs attention away from Bobby. Her eyes widened at first, then turned confused as she easily sidestepped the incoming weapon.

"You throw like a girl," Meg called, half smirking, half bemused.

There was a sudden wet crack from behind her and her eyes went wide.

"Yeah, and I hit like one," Faith growled from behind the demon. "Still enough to take your ass out though."

Meg gave a few twitches and then the smoke started rolling out of her, turning to ash and falling to the ground. The empty body fell next and Buffy felt the same regret she saw on Faith's face at the loss of the life. Buffy shook her head slightly - now wasn't the time. When Faith looked back up at her, Buffy tilted her head toward where Tom and Dean were fighting and Faith nodded in understanding.

Buffy turned her attention back to Azazel, who now had the Colt but was starting transfixed at the ash that made up his "daughter". Buffy used his distraction to her advantage and sprinted toward him unhindered. He turned toward her just before she reached him and Kennedy's face was twisted into a look of such fury and hatred that it nearly stopped Buffy in her tracks. It seemed she'd finally cracked that glib attitude of his.

He tucked the Colt in his pants and met her head on. Fists and feet flew and Buffy found herself thoroughly getting her ass kicked. Hitting the ground for probably the fifth time, she looked up at Azazel and wiped the blood out from under her smirked down at her and she stilled as he reached behind him and pulled the Colt from the waistband of his pants, his yellow gaze never leaving hers.

"I wonder what would happen if I shot you with this?" He pondered idly with his head cocked, Kennedy's long brown hair slipping over a shoulder. "Would it kill you just like any bullet would? Or would it kill you like it kills a demon? Painfully and permanently. No Heaven, no Hell, just nothing. Ending. Let's find out, shall we?"

Buffy's breath caught in her chest as the Colt was leveled at her, the blackness in the barrel drawing her gaze and refusing to let it go. Was this it? She'd said all she wanted to do was kill Azazel, that she didn't care what happened after that. But that had changed. She still wasn't sure exactly what she wanted from life, but she knew she wanted… more. More life, more love, more _Dean._ She had one moment to hope that the others would at least be able to stop Azazel before his finger tightened on the trigger. She closed her eyes.

There was an odd sound like wet paper tearing and another of something hitting the ground. Buffy, realizing it wasn't the sound of a gunshot or her parts being splattered around that made the sound, peeked an eye open. The wicked knife she'd seen Tom with earlier protruded through Kennedy's wrist and her hand was empty of the Colt, pissed off gaze aimed to the left. Following the sightline, Buffy saw Faith give a mocking wave, imitating Azazel's own action from earlier.

Then, like slow motion, Buffy looked beside her and saw the Colt resting in the grass not a foot away. She reached out and gripped the handle, finger sliding against the trigger. It wasn't warm and familiar like the Scythe, not like an extension of herself at all. But still, there was a definite power there, something humming just below the surface that faintly reminded her of Dean. She pulled back the hammer, not even really sure she was doing it right, but feeling confident just the same. Kennedy's face turned toward her with Azazel's yellow eyes wide and shocked staring out at her. She waited for the regret, the moment of moral indecision - she was about to kill a person after all and "Slayers aren't killers" - but it didn't come. There was just a tiredness and a wish for it to finally be over.

"This is for Dawn," she said quietly.

"And my mom," a familiar rough voice came from behind Azazel.

The Colt's bullet went straight through Kennedy's heart at the same time the Scythe's humming blade detached her head from her neck. There was an unearthly screech and the smoke started pouring out of her body - Azazel's smoky essence seemingly trying to make one last run for it as it slithered and writhed on the ground. But soon, despite his efforts, all that was left was an oily black residue and flakes of ash coating the cemetery floor.

The familiar whooshing sound marked the exit of the three demons that the new Slayers had been fighting. Their leader was gone and they were making a run for it while they still could. The girls looked tired and beat up, their enthusiasm for the fight all but gone, but both of them were in one piece.

Dean and Buffy's eyes met in shocked silence. It was over. It was actually _over. _Sam stumbled over beside them, and Buffy jumped slightly - she'd completely forgotten about the younger Winchester, pinned to the headstone. Dean's lips pulled into a smirk as he looked at his little brother.

"Thanks for the help there, Sammy. Couldn't've done it without you."

"Fuck you, Dean," Sam said, without any heat. "I kept the door to Hell closed."

"Only with two little girls to help," he shot back, then looked at the two as they limped over. "No offence."

Buffy shook her head and tuned out the boys' bickering. Instead she turned to Bobby and Faith who were approaching. Bobby was pale and moving slow, one of his crutches was missing and the one he had looked like it'd seen better days, but despite all that he was smiling. The side of Faith's face was covered in blood and she had a few new bruises, but it didn't seem to have affected her swagger any. She stopped next to Buffy and slung an arm over her shoulders.

"Ding dong, the bitch is dead," she murmured, looking down at Kennedy.

Buffy forced herself to look down at Kennedy again. She wished there'd been another way, but…

"Don't, B," Faith said. "She was willing to open up Hell to get what she wanted. Don't feel bad for her. She ain't worth it."

Yeah, she had. And Buffy herself had gotten two men killed (not that Gordon Walker was much of a loss) because she brought Hellhounds with her after doing what it took to get what _she_ wanted. How was that any different...

Buffy swallowed hard and focused on the here and now. What was done was done and all she could do was go forward and try and make up for the mistakes she'd made.

A groan from behind them had them turning to find John Winchester sitting up rubbing his head and looking around in confusion.

"What the fuck happened?"

They all looked at each other, Sam and Dean with the wide eyed panic of two kids who'd just been caught drawing on the walls or setting the carpet on fire. John had been hunting that demon for twenty-some years, now it was finally dead and he'd missed the whole fight because he'd been knocked out by a girl. Who'd be the lucky person telling that bit of news would fall to? Buffy shook her head and stepped back, Bobby did the same, Sam and Dean settled in for a little rock, paper, scissors and Faith… Faith was eyeing Mr. Winchester with an odd glint in her eyes.

"You know what I always say about Slayin', B?" She purred, not taking her eyes off John, who was watching her a little nervously. "Well, I think I just found what I'm hungry for…"


	38. Phone Call Interlude Thirteen

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Phone Call Interlude Thirteen - In the Beginning**

_The morning sun had just peeked over the horizon, its light barely breaching the heavy curtains over the motel room window, when he heard dad moving around. The smell of stale smoke, heavy duty laundry detergent and lingering bleach assaulted his newly wakened senses and he pulled a face, burying himself deeper in the bedding. _

"_Going to get breakfast," dad said, apparently noticing he was awake. "I want you up and ready to go when I get back."_

_Dean gave a muffled, "Yes, sir" and heard the door open and shut. Sighing and deciding it was no use delaying the inevitable, Dean threw the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. After rubbing the grit out of his eyes, he grabbed the remote from the bedside table and clicked the news on while he stumbled around the room, digging for clean clothes and throwing the rest of his shit back in his duffle. _

_He really wasn't paying attention to the TV, just background noise for his morning routine. At least, he wasn't until he heard the words "Sunnydale, California". He whipped around, the last of his sluggishness melting away. _

"-see if we can go to the footage now," _the pretty anchor woman was saying. _

_The screen filled with an overhead shot, obviously from a helicopter, of what looked like a massive sinkhole. Dirt and sand eroding away from the edges into a chasm that, while the bottom _was_ visible, still seemed a long way down. _

"As you can see," _the woman went on, her voice sounding professional if not a little bewildered._ "What appears to be a giant sinkhole appeared yesterday afternoon, swallowing the entire town of Sunnydale, California. While most of the residents evacuated the area before the destruction you see here occurred, there are many still listed as missing. Unfortunately, rescue workers have declared the ground too unstable and the likelihood of finding survivors too low to risk any kind of search and rescue operation. We, here at channel 10, will keep you informed with the most up to date information on the situation as it comes in."

_Dean's mind registered nothing but a low buzz of noise as the weather man came on. Certain words were repeating in his mind over and over - sinkhole, destruction, missing. Then it sunk in, what she'd said at the end - no rescue. He surged to his feet, confused for a second because he didn't even remember sitting down, and grabbed his phone from the table. Speed dialing Buffy's number, he waited, not breathing, as it connected. It didn't even ring, just went straight to voice mail. Growling with frustration, he hung up and tossed it down. Grabbing the closest clothes to him, he threw them on, no longer caring if they were clean._

_He hadn't heard from Buffy in weeks. _

_There had been some big throw-down brewing the last he'd talked to her - something to do with a plan to kill off potential Slayers to end the Slayer line and a thing with no substance claiming to be the First Evil. He'd laughed at that. They both had. What could something with no freaking body do? _

_Now Sunnydale was sitting at the bottom of a crater and there'd been no word from Buffy. _

_He took a piss and brushed his teeth in record time. He noticed his hands were shaking when he'd squeezed out the toothpaste and decided shaving would have to wait. Grabbing the generic motel note pad, he tried to come up with something to tell his dad. _

_Then his phone rang. His eyes shot to it, singing and vibrating on top of his duffle at the foot of the bed. _

_Maybe it was…_

_That little spark of hope was all he needed to be lunging to his feet. He snatched it up on the second ring - the number was unfamiliar but had an L.A. area code. _

"'_lo," he grunted, his mouth too dry to form anything more articulate than that. _

"_Hey, Dean," the familiar voice on the other end made him lightheaded in relief and he slumped down on the corner of the bed._

"_Hey, Buf, how's it goin'?" He asked, remarkably impressed with himself for sounding so steady - not a hint of his previous panic showing through. No way was he letting her know how freaked out he was from that newscast. _

"_Uh… well… kinda blew up the Hellmouth," she said slowly, as if she couldn't quite believe it herself._

_He couldn't help the huff of laughter that came out, but hoped she didn't hear the way it caught slightly in his throat. "What's with you and blowing shit up?"_

"_I know, right," she said, returning his laugh. Then her voice went quiet and sad, "Well, actually it wasn't me, it was Spike."_

_Dean felt the familiar anger flood through his veins at the mention of the newly ensouled vampire and his hand clenched around the phone. He hoped he never met the bastard, because he'd stake him right where he stood. Buffy would probably hate him for it, but he didn't think he'd be able to stop himself. _

"_He stayed behind," she went on, her voice shaking slightly and sounding shocked. "He stayed behind and took out the Hellmouth so the rest of us could get out."_

_Eyes widening in shock, his grip loosened on the phone. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about killing him now. Then there was Buffy, she just sounded so tired and overwhelmed, he felt his anger melting away. "I'm sorry."_

"_No, you're not," she said, her tone more amused than accusing. _

"_Not that he's gone. Not that he gave his life to save yours. But I'm sorry you're upset about it."_

_She was silent for a stretch, then gave him a soft "thanks". _

"_So what exactly led to you blowing up the Hellmouth?" He asked, scooting back on the bed to lean against the headboard, feeling the tension drain away from the sound of her voice. "Just felt like it'd been too long since you caused any large scale destruction?"_

"_The condensed version? The First Evil turned out to have an army of uber-vamps hanging out down in the Hellmouth and I got a sweet weapon from an evil preacher, a Scythe actually made for Slayers. Its all red and shiny, you know how I like the shiny. Anyway, Willow used her mojo on it and, presto chango, all the potentials became real Slayers. Then we all went down in the Hellmouth to kick some ugly vamp ass and Spike blew it up with a necklace."_

_Dean stared blankly at the newly muted television for a moment, letting all that sink in. He was used to Buffy's rambling and her quickly condensed versions of some seriously weird shit. But this was a whole new level of crazy. Knowing it was inappropriate, but unable to take it , he burst out laughing. Maybe part of it was the relief in knowing she was okay making him giddy, but most of it was just the complete _insanity_ of it. The "First Evil", uber vamps, an evil preacher, Willow playing The Blue Fairy and the potentials taking the role of Pinocchio, and Spike with an exploding necklace. It sounded more like a dream you'd have after eating day old tacos right before bed than something that would actually happen. _

_He heard Buffy give a chuckle on the other end, but it was tired sounding, cutting off his amusement. _

"_Sorry," he said, getting control of himself. "It's just-"_

"_I know," she cut him off. "Trust me, it was twice as bizarre actually being there. Anyway, no more Sunnydale. The entire town kinda got sucked down into the newly toothless Hellmouth. I think they're calling it a sinkhole on the news…"_

"_A sinkhole, huh?" Dean said, trying to sound surprised. "So, besides Spike, no other casualties?"_

"_Anya didn't make it," she answered softly. "And a bunch of the girls didn't make it out either."_

"_I'm sorry, Buf," he said quietly, knowing she'd be taking those losses personally. "What about Dawn? Willow, Xander, Giles? They're all okay?"_

"_Willow, Dawn and Giles are all okay. Xander lost an eye in a fight about a week ago, I think he's liking the eye patch look though," she said. "He's pretty torn up about Anya…"_

_He didn't miss the tenseness in her voice when her friends were brought up, he could almost _see_ her shoulders bunching up and her jaw tightening it was so plain. He briefly thought about pressing further, finding out what exactly happened to cause a fracture in the Scooby Gang, but decided she just sounded too tired for that right now. He could always get the details from her later. _

"_So, what'll you do now?" He asked, the idea of her coming on hunts with him now that there was no Hellmouth to guard popped into his mind, making his heart pick up in excitement. _

"_Right now I can't think past sleep. Sweet glorious sleep for the next week. Maybe two," she said, punctuating the wish with a huge yawn._

_He smiled even though there was a pang of disappointment in his chest. Brutally shoving it down, he told her to go get some rest and to call him when she woke up from her self-imposed coma. _

_After hanging up, he sat on the bed in his wrinkled clothes, day old stubble and his hastily packed back and shook his head at himself, laughing depreciatingly. What the hell had he been planning on doing? Running out to the hole previously known as the Hellmouth and doing his own search for Buffy? So fucking stupid. And he needed to get over this panic at the thought of her dying again. It was bound to happen one of these days. She fought evil on a daily basis and, just like him, in the end she'd end up giving her life to save someone else's. It was the life and he'd better fucking accept it and move on. He couldn't just lose his shit every time he stopped hearing from her. _

_He was still sitting there when his dad came back._

"_You alright, Dean?" John asked with a rare show of perception in his son's well being. "Lookin' a little pale there."_

"_Yeah, dad. I'm fine," Dean said, taking an offered coffee._

_And he was. They all were. He was here with dad, doing what they did best - hunting things, saving people, watching each other's backs; Sam was safe at Stanford (but still being an ass and not calling); and Buffy was alive and well, the burden of being the only Slayer (well, one of two, but Faith didn't really count since she'd been spending so much time in the Pen) was off her shoulders and the Hellmouth was closed for evil business. _

_Nothing to worry about._


	39. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

**Author's Note**: Here it is! The very last chapter! Before I let you get to it, I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone that read this and an extra HUGE thank you to those of you that took the time to review. The update schedule I set was somewhat of a lesson in discipline (I happen to be the Queen of Procrastination) and I really don't think I would have been able to pull it off if it weren't for all the amazing support I received.

I also want to apologize for all the errors probably floating around in this story and say thank you for being gracious enough not to point them all out, God knows I gave you enough opportunities. :-P My editing basically consisted of reading it over once or twice and throwing it out there while hoping for the best. Now that it's finished, hopefully I'll be able to go back and fix it up some.

And lastly (yes, I'll be shutting up soon), a lot of people are asking "Will there be a sequel" and "What's next", so I'll address that really quickly. A sequel to Gone is very unlikely. But not impossible. Who knows if a rabid little plot bunny will show up one day and the muse will crack the whip. In the meantime, I have a handful of other story ideas floating around, so I'll need to explore them further and see if there's anything there to go on. With any luck I'll have something new for you to read soon. :-)

Now, on to the finale!

**Epilogue - Three Months Later**

Buffy's socked feet were up on the dash, toes wiggling to the beat of the song on the radio as she stared out the window. The landscape of middle America that sped by outside wasn't one that was familiar to her as a California native, but over the last few months had started to feel like home. As did the seat under her, the rumble of the engine and the man sitting in the driver's seat. Home. Maybe not one like she'd had with her parents in L.A. or with her mom and Dawn in Sunnydale, but a home just the same. And she'd never been happier.

"Are we going to make it to Palo Alto in time for dinner on Sunday?" She asked, turning her gaze on Dean. He was without his usual coat on this warm spring night, the snug Henley tugged up on his forearms and outlining his body in a way that made her want to scoot closer.

"Buf, it's only Wednesday. We'll make it," he said, shooting her an eye crinkling smile.

"I know you. You'll come up with three new hunts between here and there," Buffy said as she crossed her arms, not fooled at all.

"_You're_ the one that popped the last hunt on _me_," he said, glancing back and forth between her and the road with raised eyebrows. "I was ready to start back two days ago."

"Well, yeah" Buffy said, her arms falling out of their crossed position as she realized he was right. "But it was an _evil clown,_ Dean. An _evil clown_! You can't just ignore something like _that_ for a birthday. That ranks right up there with Azazel. Maybe above him."

"Of course it does," Dean said with an eye roll, then chuckled evilly. "Wait till I tell Sam about this. I got this great shot of that thing with my phone, he's gonna shit."

"Dean Winchester," Buffy said, repressing the wince at how much she sounded like her mom right then. "You will _not_ torture your brother with pictures of evil clowns on his birthday."

"What?" Dean whined, shooting disappointed little kid eyes at her. "But I was gonna have it blown up and hung in his bedroom as a present!"

As outraged as Buffy wanted to be on Sam's behalf, she couldn't help the burst of giggles brought on by the mental picture of his horrified face.

"He really _would_ shit," she said, pulling herself back under control.

"Don't worry, I'll behave myself," he said, shooting her a soft genuine smile. "I won't scare Madison off, if that's what you're worried about."

"She's pretty tough, I think it'd take a lot to scare her off. She handled the whole werewolf thing really well. Oz said she picked up the meditation techniques faster than anybody he's ever heard of."

"So, she'd still meeting with Guru Oz? Getting the animal within, under control? Bet Sam's disappointed, she was probably a beast in the sack."

"Dean," Buffy gasped, leaning over and punching him in the shoulder. "Don't talk about your future sister-in-law like that."

"Sister-in-law?" Dean sputtered, taking one hand off the wheel to rub arm. "They've only been dating like a month, Buf."

Buffy just gave a little shrug in response. She had a good feeling about Madi and Sam, they just seemed to mesh well.

Sam had gone back to school a few weeks after the whole Devil's Gate mess. Dean had seemed both disappointed to be losing his brother again and relieved that he'd be somewhere safe. Buffy had privately taken Sam aside and told him if he pulled the not calling crap that he did the last time, she'd come to Stanford and kick his ass in front of everyone. He'd laughed and promised to stay in touch, making her promise in return that she and Dean would come visit anytime they were on the west coast (which Buffy sneakily made sure they were every couple of weeks). Sometimes Sam even joined them on a hunt - which is how he met Madison in the first place.

Buffy didn't know if she was filling the void his brother left, but Dean seemed happy with it just being the two of them, roaming the country and hunting evil.

"What's Faith up to?" Dean asked.

"Apocalypse."

"Oh… uh, shouldn't we be going to help?"

"Nah, it's already done with," she said easily, then shot Dean a smirk. "Plus, she had your dad there watching her back."

"Haha. Funny girl. You're never going to let that drop are you?" He asked flatly, obviously unamused.

"Yeah, it is funny isn't it. You know what makes it funnier? That it's true," she said her smirk widening into a full blown grin.

"What?" Dean said, sounding a little shrill. "Jeez… That's just fucked up. My dad and a girl I-"

"A girl you _what_?" Buffy asked dangerously, grin fading and eyes narrowing.

"I just mean - you know… Faith's kinda hot, and I… noticed…"

"Hmm, I guess that's okay," she said, forcing her face to smooth out into a look of contemplation. "It's only fair, I guess. I mean, I had similar thoughts about Sam." She tapped her chin thoughtfully as Dean gaped at her from the driver's seat and threw in, "Maybe we should give each other a free pass."

As Dean seemed to choke on air, Buffy felt her lips twitch as she held back her laughter. He must have seen the struggle though, because his shock and horror melted away and he burst out laughing.

"I really am a bad influence on you," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," she said, letting her own laughter free. "Me and her just started getting along, I'd hate have to stab her again because she touched you."

As silence filled the car after her declaration, she turned to tell Dean she was joking (maybe) to find him watching her with those steamy eyes that sent a tingle of heat running through her.

"It's fucking sexy as hell when you get all possessive," he said with a slow smirk that made her want to tear his clothes off.

"It's a little scary that you find me threatening to stab someone, _again_, sexy," she said, her voice a little breathless.

Dean shrugged, his smirk melting into a real smile as he turned his eyes back on the road. "What can I say, I'm a sick, sick man. Speaking of… You still have that outfit Faith lent you? Maybe we could do a little role play- OW! _Shit_, Buffy!"

Buffy scowled at him, no longer hot and bothered, as he rubbed his arm again from getting a punch laced with Slayer power.

"I was just kidding," he muttered.

"Jerk," she answered, and as she saw him opening his mouth, she cut him off. "And if you call me a bitch, we'll never have sex again."

His mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked together, making her turn toward the window so he wouldn't see her smile. Role playing? _Seriously_? What an idiot. She knew he was kidding, but you didn't admit to finding your girlfriend's friend hot and then jokingly suggest she pretend to be her in the sack. Especially when said friend was the on-again off-again… _something_ to your dad.

The brunt of Faith's after slaying hunger and horniness had landed squarely on John Winchester and, while the rest of them had gone back to Bobby's, the two of them had disappeared for two whole days. Dean and Sam had started wondering if she'd killed him. But then they'd shown back up, Faith looking down right cheery and John looking _very_ tired, but in a better mood than Buffy had ever seen him in.

John was spending most of his time in California these days, much to Sam's surprise and pleasure. He'd become part owner of a small garage a couple hours from Stanford and was living in the apartment above it. Either he visited Sam or Sam visited him just about every week, working slowly to repair the damage to their relationship. John Winchester, who saw everything in black and white, good and evil, was still working to get used to Sam's werewolf girlfriend, Madison. But he was trying, which was more than any of them had expected.

What Dean didn't know (and she doubted Sam did either) was that John had been getting antsy in his new "normal" life, and had been looking for hunts - hunts in particular that would take him right to Faith's Hellmouthy doorstep. He'd been up there three times that Buffy knew of. Faith acted like it was no big whenever she called, but Buffy knew better. There were hunts all over that John could take care of, yet he went all the way to Cleveland, over and over. And Faith wasn't the kind to pull punches, if she didn't want him there she'd say so. Buffy also happened to know that Faith was coming back with him for Sam's birthday party on Sunday. But she'd keep that to herself. She wanted to see the look on Dean's face when they came in together.

Buffy shot a glance at Dean, which he must have felt with some kind of Buffy-radar because he met her eyes almost immedietly, trying to look contrite but the smile threatening to burst out ruining the effort. She gave him a half smile and shook her head. He was impossible, but damn if she didn't love him anyway. He grinned at her, knowing all was forgiven and turned up the radio, singing along loudly with Metallica's Turn the Page.

"Depressing much?" Buffy asked reaching for the dial.

"Hey, driver picks the music," Dean said, putting his hand in front of the radio and blocking her. "Shotgun-"

"Shotgun _what_?" She challenged.

"Uh… sits there and looks ravishing," he said, turning his most charming smile on her. "And also doesn't touch the radio."

She arched a brow at him. "You really wanna play it like that? Knowing that the Camaro will be done in the next few weeks and _I'm_ going to be driving? Don't forget I'm a California girl born and bred, I'll blast some fluffy girly pop for hours on end."

Dean looked like he might be sick.

"Girly pop? In a '68 Camaro? That's like… blasphemy," he muttered like he couldn't comprehend it. "Okay, how about a compromise?"

He shoved a tape in and AC/DC poured out of the speakers. Buffy smiled and nodded and that was the end of it. Like all fights or arguments between them, it was over and forgotten within about fifteen seconds. Both of them had seen too much, _lost_ too much, to bother with truly getting angry over stupid things. Turning her gaze back out the window, the night darkened scenery whipped by. She'd probably be able to see the mountains soon, but that wasn't where her eyes were drawn. Even now, after a couple months of being on the road with Dean, it still fascinated her…

"Are you looking at the stars again?" Dean asked, his voice affectionately teasing.

"I can't help it, there's so _many_…"

Dean found her interest in the stars endearing, but didn't really get it, she could tell. He'd lived his life on the road, the open sky above him. Buffy'd lived in LA where stars might as well not exist and then in Sunnydale, with her nights filled with slaying all forms of nasties - not much time left for star gazing. She'd seen more of them in the last few months than in her entire life.

"Well, you need a better look then," he said, pulling the Impala over.

She watched him in confusion as he rolled down his window, and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition and the radio on. Her door was pulled open seconds later and she was tugged out by her hand, then he rolled down the passenger window and leaned in to turn the radio up, giving Buffy a view to appreciate as he did so.

AC/DC filled the air around them as Dean shut the door and grabbed Buffy, making her laugh as he spun her around, then pulled her close, swaying slowly to a rhythm that definitely didn't belong to Back in Black.

"I don't think this is really music for a romantic dance under the stars," she said, as snuggled against him, absorbing the warmth and scent of Dean.

"We've always danced to our own beat, Buf. Just more of the same," he said, dipping her back and drawing another laugh from her.

Things between them wouldn't end well. She knew that. While both of them sometimes wished for normality, neither of them could give up this life - the righteousness in him called to save innocent lives and the Slayer in her called for the hunt. Their end would be bloody and devastating. But right now, on the open road, under the stars with Dean pressed close, there was nowhere she'd rather be. It was perfect.

The doubt, the confinement, the weight of the world, the loneliness - it was all gone.

**The End**


End file.
